The Port Angeles Players
by WriteOnTime
Summary: New in the town of Forks and eager to please her boss at the university, Bella auditions for a local production of Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing". Her co-star is a handsome but confusing local doctor. Curtains-up on love. AU/AH canon pairings.
1. Past is Prologue

A/N – Welcome, welcome, one and all to the happy, fluffy world of TPAP. You'll find no real angst or heartfail here – it's just not my style. I own no part of Twilight; neither the Twi nor the Light are mine. Stephanie Meyer has it all, and I'm just playing in her sandbox. Ready? Read!

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Past is Prologue

BPOV

I'm beginning to think this might have been a huge error in judgment.

When Alice originally suggested we take a break from city life and leave unbearably humid, sticky, smelly New York City for her hometown in northern Washington, it had sounded like a perfect plan. I knew she was promoting the notion not so much because of the weather, but because she couldn't stand to see me keep freaking out over the Jake thing. I let her talk me into it anyway, and played along, because if I couldn't make myself happy, at least I could make Alice happy. And making Alice happy was really the next best thing to my own joy, because she was the fiercest friend I'd ever had – more a sister to me than any woman I could imagine claiming as a bona fide relative.

We were complete opposites in every regard, a fact which drew the attention and teasing of everyone we knew. Where I was more than a little reserved and enjoyed living in the fantasy world of literature, Alice was completely in-your-face and so full of life and energy that when we were first paired up as roommates at Columbia, I was so overwhelmed and exhausted after our first afternoon together that I slept like a coma patient for fifteen straight hours. That was also the morning I discovered I had no real use for my alarm clock, because Alice simply stuck her super-perky face in my unconscious one and chirped "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's 7 AM and your coffee's getting WAY cold! I made pancakes, but I don't think I did it right, because pancakes aren't usually full of holes like swiss cheese, are they? Mine kind of look like two-dimensional donuts."

So wrong. But she meant well – Alice ALWAYS means well – so I sucked it up and dealt. And did all of the cooking from that point onward.

Our first year as flatmates in East Campus was so successful that there was no question we'd move on to our own apartment for sophomore year. In her inimitable way, Alice found a completely amazing two-bedroom in the most beautiful brownstone on Riverside. She said she'd made a deal with the landlord and got the place for a steal, but Alice knew I'd never be able to afford more than a few hundred a month for rent, and I suspect she just did some kind of dirty deal with Landlord Larry, paying the extra cash on the q.t. to make up the difference. That was another great thing about her: her family was loaded, but she went out of her way to avoid making me feel like a charity case.

She majored in Art History, moving on after graduation to snag a great job as a buyer at Bergdorf, while I stayed on at Columbia and followed up my B.A. in Creative Writing with a Masters in English. I landed a position teaching undergrad intro courses at Hunter College through a connection and settled into a groove there, forcing myself to swallow my natural shyness and share my love of literature with the freshly-scrubbed faces in front of me.

Everything was great – I had a job I loved with a decent-but-not-dreamy salary, Alice and I spent our weekends crawling around the city with friends, and I woke up every morning to the sound of the pushy little sprite chattering me into the start of a new adventure. She dressed me up in bargain Bergdorf style, and I played wingman when her enthusiasm for the wrong boys threatened her health and/or safety.

Then I met Jake, and it all started to unravel.

Jake was a grad student at Hunter, two years younger than me and so cute it was almost cruel. I was sitting in the cafeteria at Hunter, munching on a grilled cheese sandwich and grading essays between classes, when Jake slid into a seat at my table and plonked his tray down in front of him. I didn't immediately look up for several reasons: in the first place, it wasn't unusual for strangers to sit together here, because there were always too few tables and too many hungry people; and secondly, I was completely befuddled by one of my student's essays and trying desperately to determine whether it was in fact written in English and not some obscure bastardization of Swahili in Gregg-Pitman shorthand. I'd never seen so many strange sentence fragments.

"Hey – whatcha reading over there? You look totally confused," a voice said.

"Uhm, it's either an essay on Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' from one of my students, or a very interesting attempt on the part of a zoo animal to send a written message of distress to a kindly human," I answered, looking up and smiling. Jake grinned back in answer, introduced himself, and started asking me about my courses and how I got into teaching. We fell easily into conversation – a rarity for me – and when I finally left the table, I realized that I'd spent a whole 45 minutes chatting to a cute guy without once feeling strange or awkward. Clearly, I needed to investigate further into the reasons why I was able to do that.

Jake didn't ask me out for almost three weeks. I wasn't sure if it was because I was a little older than he was, or if he was waiting until he felt he knew me well enough to risk it, but curiously, I never doubted that he'd actually ask. God, it felt amazing to not worry about how I was coming across to someone and to not drive myself insane wondering whether or not they were into me. Jake was clearly into me in a big way, and that power went straight to my head – I freely admit it. I was totally _drunk_ with power, and the result was that I flirted shamelessly, teased him with complete nonchalance, kissed him with reckless abandon, and had sex without a second thought. He was great in bed and he knew it, and because I wasn't super-emotional or nervous about the whole thing, for _once_ I actually just turned my brain off and enjoyed the whole experience. I wasn't thinking, period. _Bella no esta en casa_. And it was awesome – for the first time ever, I felt great about myself. I felt sexy, and attractive, and, well, superior.

And then one day, about a month after we'd started sleeping together, Jake just stopped calling.

At first, I thought maybe he was called out of town or something. I gave it a few days, and then called him. I got voicemail, and didn't leave a message until the second time I called. No response.

Odd.

After a week had passed without any contact from him at all, I was really getting worried. I walked past his apartment, which was clear across town from my own, and looked up at his window on the sixth floor. The light was on, but nobody answered the buzzer. Since it was spring break at school, I had to wait until the following Monday to see if he'd show up on campus.

He strolled into the cafeteria as I was finishing up my lunch. I stood at our table, my hand hovering over my backpack on the seat next to mine. His seat.

He looked over at me, and nodded briefly. Then he just walked over to the other side of the cafeteria to sit down at a booth with another guy and two girls.

Confused by his behavior, I thought back over our last date, wondering if perhaps I'd done something to piss him off, but I couldn't come up with anything. I picked up my backpack and headed resolutely over to his booth.

"Hey Jake," I said with a completely forced smile plastered on my face. Miss Casual. Miss I-Don't-Care.

"Hey," he answered, distant and chilly. "How's it going?"

"Uhm…okay?" I answered, hating that it sounded like a question. He shrugged in response. "Cool. I'll talk to you later, then – have a great day." He offered me the least sincere half-smile in the history of mankind and turned his attention back to the conversation at the table.

Unsure of what I should be doing next, I rocked back on my heels, hesitating momentarily, then shook my head and walked away.

I called Alice on her cell phone and told her what had just happened. "Shit," she fumed. "He's just ignoring you? What an asshole. How did he look?"

"Uh, he looked…I dunno, he just looked kind of…well, annoyed, really," I decided. "What the hell is that about? I mean, I don't think I did anything to piss him off. He just looked right through me as though I were blocking his view of something he'd rather be seeing."

"Hmmm," Alice responded. "I don't know for sure, but it sounds like he just went all guy weird. I hate that. I REALLY hate that."

"Al, seriously – 'guy weird'? What the hell are you talking about?"

She sighed. "Bella, this city is full of freak males. I have no idea why they do what they do, but if I'm right about him, he certainly wouldn't be the first guy to decide he'd just had enough without any particular reason. Sometimes they just turn off, like a lamp with a broken bulb, and there's no way you can turn 'em back on again. I doubt it's anything you did or didn't do. He's just one of those guys. Bastard, though. Really. My advice would be to just freeze him out unless or until he offers you a really compelling reason to acknowledge his existence."

I never got a reason from him, though. He just kind of faded away after that – I'd occasionally see him on the walkway between buildings, but we never spoke and he barely acknowledged my presence with more than a brief glance in my direction.

The whole experience left me feeling really badly about myself. Alice argued that I should be feeling really badly about Jake instead, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow all my fault. Maybe I was too cool with him? Maybe the fact that I was a little older eventually turned him off? Maybe I wasn't hot enough in bed? Maybe I bored him? The questions accumulated like cars in a foggy Florida freeway pileup until they filled my head and made me really doubt myself. And the strange part is that I didn't actually hurt about losing him, because I never loved him to begin with. What I hurt about was the fact that someone could change his mind so quickly and completely about me. I got played, and that was one thing. But I couldn't shake the fear that I wasn't worth playing for to begin with.

After a month of this, Alice had had enough. Without directly addressing anything in my life, she began to complain that the Bergdorf gig was getting boring. What she REALLY wanted to do was open up her own fashion house and design her own clothing, and even though Bergdorf's was a great learning experience, it left her no time at all to do her own thing. She also started talking about how crowded and tiresome the city had become to her. There was no space. No matter what hour of the day or night you stepped outside your door, there were always people hanging out, making noise and disturbing her peace. She missed open green spaces, and tall trees, and the calm of her hometown.

Then she started talking up Forks and how charming it was. She spun tales of a friendly, comfortable town in which people actually smiled and said "hi" to you as they passed you on the street, a place in which you never needed to deadbolt your door or lo-jack your car or grab your purse under your armpit as though it were a football and you were headed into the end zone for the game-winning touchdown. Her musings moved on to rhapsodize about the state university in Port Angeles, and how it boasted a U.S. poet laureate as a graduate along with several renowned authors. She worked her sly magic on my tired brain every day, wearing down my feeble reasons for hanging on to our current life.

I was defeated, and kind of ready for a change. And if I hated it, I was pretty sure the dean of Hunter's English department would welcome me back after a semester's absence. If I could confirm that, I'd agree to give Forks a try, provided we could sublet our apartment on Riverside and I could find a job in the university at Port Angeles. Alice yelped and nodded, getting on the phone with her mother and asking her to make a few calls to some of the faculty there. Alice's mother Esme was a fabulous artist who'd had her work shown in galleries all over the country – I was excited and more than a little proud when she sent us several paintings for our apartment, each canvas easily worth six months of my salary. They were all breathtaking, but my favorite was an oil she'd done of a young Alice in their garden on a sunny afternoon, because the painting managed to capture Alice's hummingbird energy and her absolute joy.

I knew that Alice's father Carlisle was a doctor, but didn't discover that he was Chief of Staff at UW PA General until well into my friendship with her. Both Carlisle and Esme were ridiculously good-looking – I knew that from the million photos of them that Alice had scattered all over our place. Similarly, her older brother Emmett was as handsome as the rest of his family, but oddly, he was enormous, while Alice barely reached five feet without any shoes on. Carlisle and Esme were neither freakishly short nor freakishly tall, so the contrast between the height of their children made for some truly bizarre family portraits. They were like some kind of Ford Modeling Agency circus folk.

Within a matter of three days, everything had been settled, and we were on our way to Forks at the start of July. I'd listed our apartment as a long-term sublet on Craigslist, and after a few completely unsuitable prospects, we found a nice couple who were relocating to New York as the result of a job offer – they loved our space and were quiet and clean, so Landlord Larry agreed to the sublet and we packed our stuff. I wanted to drive across country with a U-Haul, but Alice insisted that we hire a moving company and not stress ourselves, so I agreed.

When I called my mother to let her know what was going on, she pouted a little. "Why can't you just move here, Bella? I mean, the University of Phoenix is much larger, the city has so much more to offer in the way of entertainment and culture, and…and…well, it'd just be nice to have you around again, you know?"

I sighed. "Mom, you know I love you and miss you and dad to bits, but moving from one big city to another just isn't what I'm looking for right now. I'm looking forward to an escape from that – I'm not sure how long it'll last, but it's where my head is right now. Please don't be upset with me." She harrumphed into the receiver but offered no strong objection. "Just promise me you'll visit more than you do now, okay? We miss you, sweetheart."

Great. Guilt. But I wasn't going to let it get under my skin, because there was already too much going on under there, and I had no room for more conflict. I gave her my promise and told her I'd call her once we were set up in Forks.

Esme was a little put out that Alice didn't plan on moving back into her house, but understood that we really wanted some autonomy even though we were within spitting distance of Alice's childhood home. She found us a great old Victorian on a wide, tree-lined street near the center of town. The gingerbread façade was charming and friendly, and the entire house was painted in appealing shades of blue. It looked like a summer sky, and the jpegs she forwarded made me feel the first real excitement I'd felt in months. I was really looking forward to a total change – a fresh start.

We settled in quickly. Alice asked Esme to paint a mural in our large foyer, and she readily agreed. What we ended up with there was at once startling and beautiful – it was a painting of a waterfall that started at the ceiling and culminated in a beautiful lake right under our front door. The water looked so real that every time I stepped across the entryway, I felt as though I was being bathed in a welcoming hug. Esme grinned when I told her that, and said she hoped the house would prove to be a place for both of us to make nothing but happy hug-filled memories.

My first few weeks at UW Port Angeles were uneventful – I took on two undergrad courses for the summer session, both of which were well-traveled ground for me. The faculty were friendly and exceptionally well-studied; I began to look forward to our weekly meetings because we concluded departmental business fairly quickly and spent the rest of the time arguing about 19th century literature and why pre-Industrial Revolution fiction offered the reader a more complete experience than modern fiction ever could. The men all came down on the side of Hemingway, as they always did no matter where you taught. The only exception to the rule was Jasper, who was such a gentleman that he couldn't disagree with the ladies if his life depended on it. I suspect he's a closet romantic, but it might also be due to his Southern upbringing – when we were introduced, he actually "ma'am"ed me. Ma'am. For real.

Alice fixed up the top floor of our house as a design studio, and finally surrendered herself to her muse. I made the mistake of going up there once to tell her that dinner was ready, only to be dragged into the studio and forced to stand on a round platform in front of a tri-fold mirror while Alice threw a half-finished evening gown over my head and stuck me with several pins. The gown was gorgeous, though; it was a deep ruby red with a drape neck, very form-fitting at the waist and the top of the hip and flaring out gently into several languid scallops of ruby silk at the back. Although I didn't say it, even I could see that the color made my brown hair and creamy skin seem almost luminous. Predictably, Alice once again mourned the fact that I rarely let her dress me the way she truly wanted to. She had this crazy idea that I could easily be a modern Rita Hayworth if I'd only give her a few days to pull off the wardrobe.

That Sunday, we headed over to Alice's parent's house for dinner. Emmett had just gotten into town as well – Esme and Carlisle were over the moon about the fact that he'd decided to get his law degree at UW PA. Emmett had played first-string college football at Duke and planned to go pro after graduation, but a knee injury in his senior year forced him to quit and spend two years rehabbing and reconsidering. He discovered that life after jock-world wasn't so bad if he could find a job fighting for a living, and thus a lawyer was born. He could easily have stayed at Duke and secured a more prestigious degree, but chose to transfer out and attend UW PA because his high school sweetheart and fiancé Rose had a great job offer with a hot software development outfit based in Port Townsend, an easy commute from Port Angeles. Although Rose looked like a runway model, she was a die-hard computer geek with an astonishing gift for code breaking. Emmett fell hopelessly in love with her during freshman year computer lab because she called their teacher a clueless moron and managed to do it in such a way that he'd actually thanked her for it. Rose had interesting people skills.

When Rose and I shook hands, she looked me up and down in an appraising fashion. "You're the one who had some dick in New York jerk you around, right?"

"Uhm..yeah, I guess," I mumbled.

Rose snorted. "Ass clown. Give me a name and I'll make him suffer the next time I'm headed in that direction. When I'm through with him, he won't know whether to wind his watch or scratch his balls."

We eyed each other. A slow grin spread over my face, mirrored quickly in Rose's. "Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna hug you now. Don't freak out," I said.

Rose submitted to the hug and patted my back awkwardly. "We won't be making a habit of that, okay?"

Emmett turned his head from the television and laughed. "Don't grope my girl or I'll pound your pretty ass into a pretty pulp."

The phone on the side table started to ring. Esme called out from the kitchen to ask one of us to get it, and Alice picked up the receiver.

"Hey Dad! What's up?" Alice paused to listen to her father. "Aww, Daddy, crap – don't make me tell mom, she's going to be really ticked. It's Em's first Sunday home." Pause. "Yeah, I know. Okay, I'll let her know – what time do you think you'll be back?" Pause. "Okay, Dad – see you later. Love you – bye."

Alice made a face at the phone as she placed the receiver back into its cradle. Emmett laughed again. "Don't tell me, let me guess – he's covering the overnight for some poor slob with an actual life, right?"

Alice nodded and wandered into the kitchen to break the news to her mother. Before she could speak, Esme spun around from the counter and sighed. "He's at the hospital. He won't be back in time for dinner. God, I hate that he's so responsible – it makes me crazy sometimes. I should have married an accountant, because nobody dies if the books have to wait until tomorrow morning." She smiled, and it was obvious that marrying an accountant would only have worked for her if the accountant in question was Carlisle.

We all sat down at the dining room table and tucked into the fabulous roast. Emmett finished four slices before I'd gotten halfway through one slice, and Esme slapped his hand when he reached for a fifth slice. "Slow down and chew your food, Emmett – I didn't raise a caveman. Or, maybe I did, but I'd appreciate it if he used the teeth we paid so much money to the orthodontist for," she laughed. Alice launched into a completely grotesque story about Emmett and his braces – he'd had four rubber bands at one point, and he got really good at unhooking the bands with his tongue and shooting them onto Alice's plate at dinner. Rose countered with a story about Emmett's retainer, and how she'd accidentally taken it home from school one day, only to have her mother go through her backpack, find the case, and confront Rose about why she felt the need to get a diaphragm without consulting her parent first. I laughed so hard that tears ran down my cheeks.

We polished off two bottles of cabernet as we ate, and while I wasn't tipsy, I held my liquor so poorly that I was definitely feeling it after the second glass. Once we'd finished dinner and cleared the table, Esme packed up some roast, potatoes, and oven-roasted asparagus into several Tupperware containers, then asked Emmett if he'd drive over to the hospital to drop the food off for his father. Emmett started to whine that he was too full and tired to make the trip, so Alice quickly stepped in and offered us as an alternative. I grabbed the canvas tote bag with the Tupperware containers and after thanking Esme profusely for the lovely dinner, we said our goodbyes to Em and Rose and headed out the door.

The drive to the hospital took less than a half-hour. I wanted to wait in the car so that we wouldn't have to park, but Alice insisted I come in and check out her big-cheese father in his second home, so we parked and I headed in right behind her.

There was nobody at the central information desk, so Alice walked over to Emergency Admittance and tapped the station nurse on her shoulder.

"Hey, Alice! Long time no see," smiled the nurse. "Looking for himself, are you? He's just finishing up in Exam Three. Some idiot kid blew a little hole in his thigh with a small firecracker. Man, summers, you know? Wait over there – I'll tell him you're up front." She gestured to a waiting area with several large couches and a wall-mounted television screen. Alice and I sat down to wait.

Alice's cell phone rang – it was Esme, asking if we'd seen Carlisle yet. While Alice was chatting with her mother, I looked around the ER. It was relatively quiet, and since it was after 10 PM, there were few people milling around. A janitor mopped the floor near the automatic doors to the ambulance entrance. My eyes started to glaze over – must have been the wine. I stifled a yawn and looked up to see the doors to the exam rooms swing open, expecting to see Carlisle and complete our vittle mission.

But Carlisle didn't walk through the doors.

Instead, I found myself looking directly into the face of the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

_Whoa._

Blinking twice, I snapped my yawning mouth closed with such force that I heard my jaw pop.

_Holy Mother of Christ. Look. At. Him._

He walked over to the nurse's station with a chart in his hand. Turning his back to the waiting area, he shifted the chart from his right hand to his left, grabbed a marker with his right hand, popped the cap off with his teeth, and scrawled some notes onto the dry erase board on the wall behind the desk. Still holding the marker cap between his teeth, he turned back to face the desk and put the chart down while he recapped the marker and replaced it under the board. He plucked a pen from the pocket of his lab coat and scribbled something on the chart, leaning forward as he did so.

Completely transfixed, I stared at his face while he furrowed his brow and crossed out something he'd written. His skin was even paler than mine, and his jaw boasted a 24-hour stubble. His lips were pursed as he considered something, the lower lip jutting out slightly, and I could actually hear it beg me to bite it. His eyes were a startling, dreamy, sonnet-worthy pale green. His tawny hair ran riot on his head, making me wonder briefly if he had a lion nesting up there. My fingers itched to restore the hair to order, or possibly to create an even more demented tangle of it. His left hand came to rest at the top of the station's counter, and I shifted my eyes to peek at his long, graceful fingers as he drummed them, deep in thought.

_No, really. Just – Jesus Christ. Jeeeeesus Christ. Jesus._

"BelLA! Where ARE you, woman?" Alice said loudly, apparently not for the first time within the past minute or so.

"Here. I'm here," I murmured, not turning around. "You…what?" I couldn't form a complete sentence, so that would have to suffice for her.

In the next instant, several things happened all at once. I tore my gaze from the absolute perfection in front of me to face Alice; she turned her eyes towards what had been engaging my interest, and the doors to the ER exam rooms once again swung open as Carlisle finally emerged.

I swiveled my head around again in a pretty decent imitation of Linda Blair's character from "The Exorcist". My neck instantly protested, locking firmly into place and making me gasp loudly from the sudden sharp pain.

"Ow!" I screamed, unable to transform the agony into anything remotely poetic or feminine.

"Bella?" Carlisle hurried over to my side and reached his arms out to me as tears sprang to my eyes for the second and far less entertaining time that evening. Mr. Perfect looked up as I screamed, and our eyes met for the first time. I was momentarily confused away from my pain by the look I saw on his face. He was startled, then stunned, then horrified, and finally conflicted, but as Carlisle crossed into our field of vision, he quickly dropped his gaze back to his chart, picking it up and almost sprinting back through the exam room doors.

"Bella, what happened? Are you okay?" Carlisle asked me urgently. Alice sprang up from her seat on the couch and ran forward to kneel next to me.

"My neck. I did – something – to my neck. It won't…move," I gasped.

"Let me take a look," Carlisle said. "Easy now – I won't hurt you, I promise."

He gently placed his fingers on each side of my neck and felt it very lightly. "Hmmm," he murmured. "I don't think it's whiplash, but I do think you've locked a muscle in there somewhere. Let me get an ice pack and some ibuprofen."

As he walked away, Alice put her hand on my knee. "Bel, I'm sorry. I know you're in pain right now. But what kind of hypnotic snake charming miracle did I just witness?"

"Al," I said through gritted teeth. "I can't turn my head to face you, so if you're going to grill me properly, you really need to scoot on over to my other side. And don't you DARE say anything in front of your father, or I swear to God we'll go a round or two. Clear?"

"Crystal," Alice giggled. Carlisle returned with the promised ice pack. He handed me two tablets first, along with a cup full of water and a straw. I swallowed the ibuprofen with a few painful sips of water, and then he held the ice pack to my neck for a few moments to see if it would loosen the muscle. After about five minutes, I could feel the muscle start to give, and in another minute or two, I was finally able to remove my chin from my right shoulder and gingerly manipulate it closer to its original position.

While I did so, Alice handed her father the canvas tote with his dinner. He smiled at her. "Your mother is the most fabulous woman on the planet. She knows I'd sooner lop off a limb than miss her roast." He turned back to face me again. "Ahh, Bella. There you are! Feels better now?" I nodded. "Excellent. Okay, Alice, you drive home and make sure this one doesn't move around too much. Bella, I'm going to give you a little tube of Ben Gay. When you get home, rub some on your neck and try to sleep in an elevated position tonight. You should be fine by tomorrow, but if you're not, come over to the house and I'll take another look."

Alice hugged her father and I thanked him for taking care of me. He laughed and gestured around the room. "If you're going to have an accident, this is a pretty good place for that. Feel better, honey."

I walked out to the car with Alice's arm linked through mine. "Shut up," I cautioned as she opened her mouth. "Not until we're safely in the car."

As we pulled out of the parking space, Alice shifted her eyes to mine. "Spill. That was like – I don't know. That looked suspiciously like a religious experience to me."

I rested my head against the passenger seat and sighed. "Al, that was a first for me. I have NEVER been so completely eviscerated by the mere sight of a man. I feel totally hollow. I'm a little freaked out, frankly. And my neck is killing me," I winced.

Alice lifted one hand from the steering wheel to place her index finger thoughtfully over her lips. "Hmmm…," she said.

"Do NOT – I'm telling you, do NOT say anything to your father. I will kill you dead, then get him to patch you up so I can kill you again."

She pouted for a minute, then smiled. "I promise. I won't say one word to Dad. We'll just have to figure it out some other way."

I glared at her from the corner of my eye. "Evil shrimp, I can hear your gears turning. Let it go."

Alice laughed, but didn't say another word. I grunted, crossed my arms over my chest, and began to mentally prepare for my own personal apocalypse. Error in judgment, all right.

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	2. The Play's the Thing

The Play's The Thing

BPOV

I can hear Alice well before she sticks her head into my bedroom.

"Bella?"

I roll over slowly and groan. "Yeah. I'm getting up, I'm getting up."

"You okay? How's the neck?"

I sit up slowly and swivel my head from side to side. "Better. Not totally great, but much better, thanks." I shift the sheets and the blanket away from my body and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "Right. Shower. Be down in ten."

I spend slightly longer in the shower than usual, letting the warm water pound against my neck and soothe the aching muscles there. As I lather up my hair, my thoughts again return to the face I'd seen yesterday. What the fuck was wrong with me? And if looking at him caused injury, what would touching him do – would I go all _Story of O_? Would I maybe hurl myself at him with enough force to break something of his instead? If I break him, must I buy him? And besides, he was g to the orgeous, was Mr. Doctor Fabulous. I'd never get close enough to him to spazz out, so it really didn't matter anyway. All I had to do was lock Alice down, because that innocent "I won't say a word to Daddy" hadn't fooled me one bit – I was betting that she'd already picked out her spy attire and staked a position using Google Earth, and was going to spend the better part of the afternoon on an Austin Powers recon mission. Espionage was her favorite game.

By the time I dry off, throw on clothing, listen to Alice remind me that cotton is not my only option and I should consider broadening my fabric horizons, tell her to can it and to not even THINK about fake spraining anything to scope out the ER, choke down a cup of coffee and race to work, I am only three minutes late for the start of the departmental meeting.

Harrison Greely, the dean, looks up as I scoot into the conference room and grab a seat next to Jasper. He raises his eyebrows and grins in welcome, but says nothing about the negligible tardiness.

"Okay, so I need one of you clever little monkeys to cover the Comp Lit section on Thursday afternoon, because Dolores here has an appointment she can't talk her way out of. Who's my victim?"

I know that as low man on the totem pole I should probably volunteer, so I suck it up and raise my hand. Dolores smiles weakly at me, and Harrison makes a note on his planning calendar. "Any other business to discuss?"

Victoria sticks her finger in the air. "Can somebody PLEASE tell maintenance to change the florescent bulbs in Lecture 2? My eyes freak out every time I have to go in there – it feels more and more like a disco every day." Harrison nods. "I'll have Mindy call down and take care of that. Anything else?"

Jasper clears his throat. "Are we mapping out the new curriculum for Third Years this month? I had a few ideas I wanted to propose for discussion as possible course topics, and I know Admissions is drafting the course offerings and schedules in the next few weeks."

Harrison taps his chin with his pen. "Yes, we need to get on that, and quickly. I suggest that everyone come prepared to next week's meeting with a list of thoughts on the subject, so that we can put everything on the table at once and make some decisions." He swivels his chair around to his left. "Carla, I know you're going to bring up the whole 'Eroticism in 18th Century Lit' thing again. I'm going to ask everyone else to consider that over the course of the week and offer me selections that go beyond _Fanny Hill_ and _Tom Jones_. If we go ahead with it, we're also going to have to figure out if it's better to have a woman or a man lead the class. I'm not trying to be sexist here, people – we really do need to think about things like sexual harassment with a course like this."

"Anything else?"

Nobody makes a move to put another topic out there, so Harrison nods his head. "All right, I just have one more announcement to make and then we can grab a cup of coffee. The Port Angeles Players are thinking about tackling Shakespeare for their next production – _Much Ado About Nothing_, to be precise. Doug Banner's directing again, and he's asked me to implore you all to audition tomorrow night, because he's pretty sure that he won't have lots of options in terms of candidates who can handle the text. So I'm asking you very, very nicely to make some time to head over to the community center tomorrow and give it a try. And when I say I'm asking you very, very nicely, I mean I'm telling you that if a few of you don't make the effort, I'll have to duck Doug's calls for a month, and I actually really like the guy, so that would make me pretty grouchy." He looks meaningfully around the room, where all eyes are suddenly attempting to escape to unoccupied corners, walls, and the ceiling.

The meeting breaks up shortly thereafter, and we all push our chairs back from the table to get up and mill around before classes began. Jasper and I walk over to the coffee machine. "So Bella, I'll go to the auditions if you'll go. I mean, at least we can show Harrison we made the effort, and you and I are the only faculty members under the age of thirty, so we should stick together. I'll be your verification and you can be mine. Deal?"

I laugh at the idea of me standing on stage and speaking those beautiful words. I'd gotten used to lecturing by sort of pretending that I didn't physically exist beyond a kind of floating head over a lectern. The thought of standing in front of a crowd, wearing a costume and having everyone watching all of me was genuinely terrifying, but on the other hand, I had moist and happy feelings about Benedick and always wanted to be a Beatrice in real life, so the play selection was painfully tempting. Plus, Harrison would be happy, since I was pretty sure nobody else in the room had any intention of going to the auditions. And really, the odds of me being chosen for anything other than a bit part were extremely slim. I sigh and nod. "Okay, I'm in. But if you say one word about how badly I stink at the audition, you and I are gonna do a little dance of death for the rest of the semester. I will make your life a living hell – trust, brother."

Jasper grins. "Yeah, you're scary."

I lower my brow threateningly. "Don't doubt me. I'm an evil genius, and you'll never see it coming until it's right up on you. Living. Hell." I poke him in the chest as I say the words to emphasize my point.

I tell Alice about the audition thing at dinner that night. Her reaction is startling in its enthusiasm, even by Alice standards. "Ohmygod, you HAVE to let me come too. Bella, it sounds like so much fun. I'm totally going to audition, even though I have no idea what the play's about. What's the play about? You'll fill me in later. And even if I don't get any part, I could still volunteer to do the costumes. Are there loads of, like, party scenes and whatnot in the play?"

I think for a moment. "There are at least two parties and two weddings, so you'd have your hands full on that score. "

Alice is in absolute overdrive – she's buzzing around and landing on every surface of our kitchen for a millisecond and then bouncing over to another part of the room. She's giving me a migraine, but I'm kind of happy that she's so psyched about it because I'm counting on her to get me through the audition and then getting me a little bit tipsy at dinner afterwards. Which reminds me…

"Hey, Al – would it be okay with you if I invited this guy Jasper out to dinner with us after the auditions tomorrow? He's in the English department with me – very cool in kind of a long Texan way, complete with drawl and 'yes ma'am' tendencies."

Alice cocks her birdlike head to one side. "He actually says 'yes ma'am'?"

I nod. "Not only that, but he's cuuute. And single. And employed. He's a damned specimen, Al." I'm as sneaky as she'll ever be, just not as obstinate about it.

"And you're not hitting that because…?"

I laugh at her. "I work with him – like I need _that_ kind of awkwardness in my life. And I've sworn off men, because they all suck. Plus, he doesn't curl my toes that way – I like him and we get along really well, but he's not my sledgehammer."

Alice grins up at me but knows better than to say anything at all on the subject of Mr. Doctor Fabulous. "Sure, Jasper's welcome to join us. We'll do that little Italian place up on Crescent, since it's right around the corner from the community center and their penne ala vodka gives me happy feet."

I tell Jasper about dinner when I see him in the faculty break room Tuesday morning. He doesn't seem fazed at all by the invitation, so I assume he understands that we are strictly friends. I get zero vibe from him and am positive I give zero vibe in return.

Later in the afternoon, I decide to pull out the copy of _Much Ado_ that I plucked off my bookshelf before leaving for work in the morning. I thumb through the pages, reacquainting myself with my old friends and their beautiful sparkling words. I daydream about being Beatrice, about saying what I mean and being tart and pithy and sexy as fuck. A firebrand. A hellcat. I'm not a hellcat – I don't even have hellcattish leanings, but it sure would be nice to crawl back into the head I was occupying while I was dating Jake.

I want to get in the cool zone again and just not care about how I'm coming across, but I realize that this is entirely impossible when applied to the whole Mr. Doctor Fabulous situation, because even the thought of him, the merest flicker of a memory, the tiniest mental image of the tip of his pinky, is enough to create a bizarre chemical reaction that turns my insides from solid to vapor in a kind of lust sublimation that's extremely uncomfortable even at this distance from the real thing. No good would come of putting myself back into his deadly sphere of influence, unless by some freak chance he's hopelessly turned on by jabbering, drooling chimpanzee women.

Alice meets me at my last class of the day, and sits in to watch me talk about how Virginia Wolf nails the feeling of forced mental uselessness among women of the upper classes. The proscribed manner in which they live, with subjects which are appropriate to consider and subjects which must never enter into a thought process, stymies the natural curiosity and creativity of an educated woman, forcing her to watch from a distance while the men in her life are free to experience, and fail, and achieve, and feel. I tell my students to imagine themselves being barred from attending college because it's not a productive use of their time to learn anything beyond the basics. Several students laugh and volunteer to skip school for a week just to see what I'm talking about. I end the class and remind them that they have papers due on Friday.

"I love watching you talk about books," Alice says.

"I love watching you drape fabric," I answer, grinning. "It's great to see someone you care about doing something that makes them happy."

Alice sighs, but says nothing, and I can tell she's thinking about Mr. Doctor again, but she knows better than to go there with me. We walk back to the English Department offices to pick up Jasper and head over to the community center.

Jasper is leaning against the copier with his head bent over a book. He's squinting and has a slight smile on his face, and his legs are casually crossed at the ankles. Alice skips over to him and puts her face between his book and his nose. "Hello, I'm Alice," she chirps. "Good book?"

Jasper straightens up and looks down, way, way down, to peer into Alice's face. I suddenly realize how tall he is, and think briefly about Alice and her model/circus freak family genes. Jasper stares at Alice for a full minute, saying nothing, before he realizes that he's just created the mother of all awkward pauses and needs to snap the hell out of it pronto. "Hey there, Alice. Sorry, I was just – I was –," he loses his train of thought again, and I'm beginning to worry that the Alice Factor is too much for him to handle, but he mans up and pulls himself together. "Sorry about that. "I'm Jasper – nice to meet you, little one."

Alice erupts into a peal of laughter. "No, really, I insist that you 'ma'am' me immediately. Bella promised me a 'ma'aming', and I won't leave until I get it."

Jasper looks at me and grins, then looks back down at Alice. "Is that right? Well, I sure would never want to disappoint you, ma'am," he says, playing along because if it makes her happy to tease him about being southern, he's game.

She grabs the book from his hand and studies the cover. "Hmmm…Pynchon. You're a deep'un, ain't ya. Let's put this stuff away and go embarrass Bella while she auditions – if we're lucky, she'll hyperventilate and lose her appetite, and you and I can split her untouched appetizer at dinner."

Heartless wench. But I'll bet she packed a paper bag in her purse just in case the hyperventilation thing happens, because she knows it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

We take Alice's car over to the community center, and watching Jasper fold himself into the bright yellow Porsche further promotes my whole private circus freak concept. The center has a big rehearsal space in the basement because this town likes it's pageants and parades and things. We enter through the main doors of the building and head downstairs, following the "Auditions Today – 6 PM" signs on the banister. I force myself to take deep, calming breaths as we walk, reminding myself that this is local community theatre and not the Royal Shakespeare Company. I need to relax and have fun.

There are about twenty people in the rehearsal space. Alice, Jasper and I put our names on the call sheet and sit down on some folding chairs to wait our turn. Alice gets called first; she twirls over to a man I'm going to assume is Doug Banner. He looks at her and considers for a moment before asking her to read some of Hero's lines. Alice looks so young and innocent and pure that I totally get where he's heading with her, even though the truth is that Alice is a vamp with more than a few notches on her gun holster. She breezes through the text because she honestly believes what she's saying, so the words don't slow her down even though they're put in an order that's unfamiliar to her.

Jasper reads next, and I'm not a bit surprised to note that Banner is considering him for Claudio. I think he might make a better Don Pedro because of his commanding height, but I realize when I really look at him that there's something very young and unseasoned about him. Jasper reads all the romance into the words – I sneak a peek at Alice while he's reading, and she seriously has her chin propped up by her interlaced hands, staring at him as though he was selling her some religion. She is joining the cult of Jasper, I note with satisfaction. Knew she would.

Banner has the two of them run a few of Hero and Claudio's exchanges, and it's pretty obvious that the chemistry is working.

My turn next. As much as I love Beatrice and wish like hell I could be her in real life, I'm expecting to read for Margaret or maybe Ursula because no way do I come across as the firebrand I was earlier wishing to be. Banner considers me for longer than a minute before he asks me a surprising question. He wants to know if I've ever been really disappointed in love. I think to myself that it's none of his damned business and then want to ask him to define love for me, but I think I know what he's getting at so I hold my tongue and just nod. He wants me to read for Beatrice. I'm petrified now because Beatrice really matters to me and even though there's no way I'm getting the part, I still want to do her justice, because she and Viola are my two favorite Shakespearean characters of all time.

Banner asks me if I've ever read the play, and I tell him I know it by heart, because I do. He tells me to choose my own text to share with him, so I ask him if he'll be Don Pedro for me and tell him I'd like to run the lines from their exchange in Act II Scene 1, and I'm once again so moved by her careful wistfulness and her urge to cover up everything that hurts her with a smile and a witty remark. When Don Pedro says that my silence most offends him, and that to be merry best becomes me for out of question I was born in a merry hour, I say the words that almost always make me tear up a little. I say

"_No, sure, my lord, my mother cried: but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born."_

And for a moment, I can accept that Beatrice and I are both pleasant-spirited ladies, even if only one of us is brave enough to be angry and risk loss for clarity's sake.

I finish the reading and Banner asks me to stick around. This is convenient, because Alice and Jasper are also staying, but when I walk back over to our chairs, I notice that they have their heads so close together that they look like the McDonald's golden arches, even though neither one of them is actually yellow. So I take a seat a little bit apart from them and pluck _Much Ado_ back out from my bag, getting lost in the words once more.

About forty-five minutes later, Banner is done with the auditions. I look over at who is still hanging around and I try to guess which part they got. I can see Don John, and I can see Leonato, and I'm pretty sure that the cop snoozing in the corner is a shoe-in for Borachio. There are two women standing in a corner, and I'm going to guess that the older one will be Ursula and the younger one will be Margaret, which means that he's definitely considering me for Beatrice. I'm elated and scared shitless.

And now that I've stopped to consider the matter, I realize that there's nobody in the room who would really work for Benedick. Is Banner going to play the role himself? I mean, it might make it easier on me because there is no part of the dashing soldier in him, so I would probably be a lot less nervous with the wordplay and the slow tug-of-war between the characters. And I've quite resigned myself to the likelihood that Banner is going to be my Benedick when the door to the rehearsal room swings open and my heart quite literally leaps out of my mouth and lands – splat – on the floor in front of me.

Because standing just inside the door now is Mr. Doctor Fabulous, make no mistake about it. And everything I was thinking about him is still true, even truer now because he's got the unmitigated nerve to be wearing the greatest old and faded pair of jeans, a long-sleeved black t-shirt, and his gray scrub top. And as if that weren't enough to put a period to my existence, he's got on a pair of black-rimmed glasses and he's running his sickeningly beautiful hand through his sickeningly beautiful hair.

His eyes scan the room. They find me, staring at him as though he had Medusa snakes crawling out of his skull, and they freeze for a moment before he drops his chin down to his chest, where it stays.

_It was a short life, Bella, and you really should have done more with it. I mean, you never made it over to England, you never swam with dolphins, you never danced in a public water fountain in the pale moonlight. You're gonna be carrying a whole list of 'shoulda' with you into the afterlife. And that's a major drag, baby. _

_Maybe he's just lost or something. Because if he's not, and I have to think about him playing Benedick, I will lose my mind and I'm not sure there will be any way that I'll ever be able to face anyone in this room ever again, including Jasper and Alice._

_Speaking of Alice, I wish like hell that I could move one part of my frozen body to alert her to my suffering, but I can't even manage to blink or twitch at the moment. I silently will her to look in my direction, because there is NO WAY she won't realize I'm in trouble. I think her name really loudly and am screaming 'You oblivious lovestruck midget, look up, look up and look at me dammit, I am drowning, I am suffocating, I need you to TiVo the Jasper thing and just look the hell in my direction for a fraction of a second.'_

Banner looks up instead, and notices Mr. Doctor Fabulous in the doorway.

"Edward, thank God. I was afraid you weren't coming. Get stuck at the hospital again?"

Mr. Doctor Edward/Bedward/Still-Hasn't-Said-A-Wordward nods and looks down at his shoes, which I notice are Pearl Izumi SynchroPace IIIs. Edward runs, apparently. He's a runner.

Alice finally manages to tear her mooning gaze away from Jasper and take a peek around her to see what's going on. She turns slightly when she notices that there's something going on at the door. She registers it all in a nanosecond and her eyes quickly lock on my frozen face. I worry that she's going to stand up and start snapping her little bird fingers in front of my nose to break the spell, because THAT wouldn't be too obvious in the slightest. But no, she's cool as a cucumber, and excuses herself from Jasper's side to slide on over to me and grab my lead-lined hand.

"Bella, breathe," she whispers. "You gotta breathe, sweetie, or we're shortly going to be carrying your unconscious body out of here."

I break the surface and take a huge lungful of air a split-second before I reach the point of no return and drop my head down a little. I can't look up, but from the corner of my eye I see Edward moving slowly toward Banner.

"Everyone? Can I have your attention, please?" Banner is trying to get everyone to look at him, and I make an heroic effort to comply.

"Okay, so, welcome, welcome, one and all. I think we have pretty much everyone we need here for the major roles, and I've got a few minor parts that I can cast from our regular company. This production is a bit of a departure from our standard fare, but I really want to stretch a bit and I know you'll get the job done. I don't want any of you to think for one moment that I'm going to expect you to affect an English accent for this play; it's far more important that you really wrap your heads around what the words are saying, and do your best to develop a true relationship with those words as YOU understand them.

The role assignments are as follows: James, you'll be our Don John. Mike, you're Don Pedro. Alice, you've got Hero, and Jasper is your Claudio. Jessica is our Ursula, Angela is Margaret, Bella has the lovely Beatrice, Ben is Leonato, Pete, you've got Borachio, and Bill is Antonio. Oh – and Edward here is Benedick – sorry about that, Edward," Banner smiles. Edward nods again, and I'm honestly starting to wonder if he's the world's most beautiful mute. My mind flashes to the sex scene between Marlee Matlin and William Hurt in _Children of a Lesser God,_ and I think about taking a sign language class or two at the Y.

"It's almost eight o'clock, so we're going to break for the night in a few minutes and pick this up again at our regular rehearsal time on Thursday evenings from six to nine. We've got six weeks to work on it, and I hope everyone enjoys the experience." He smiles. The bastard smiles. "I'm pretty easy-going for a director, and I want you to always feel comfortable coming to me with any problems or questions you've got. We're building this together, even if I'm the general contractor. So, congratulations everyone, and we'll see you back here on Thursday. Please pick up the Penguin solo edition of the play and bring it with you on Thursday, so we're all reading from the same text."

This seems to be the end of his spiel, and I'm anxious as hell to make a break for the door so that I can start knitting my sanity back together, but of course I am not that lucky.

As people start shifting around and collecting their things, Banner calls my name. "Bella? Bella, can you come over here for a second? I want you to meet Edward."

_Alice? Oh, Alice. Why aren't you strong enough to hoist me onto your back and carry me over there?_

I take another deep breath and stand. I'm surprised to discover that my feet are cooperating in this exercise, so I test them further and move one in front of the other, eventually reaching Banner's side. I am not looking at Edward, and even though I'm not looking, I can tell that he's also not looking at me.

It's a bit of a Mexican standoff, and Banner fires first. "Okay, I know how shy you are, Edward, and I'm getting the sense that Bella's not much better in that department, but I really need the two of you to loosen up a bit and take a chance on each other. Beatrice and Benedick are the heart and soul of this play, and if you don't find that thread between them, nothing else works. I'm going to ask you two to run their first exchange for me right now, just to see if this is hopeless or if we've got something we can work with. I'll feed you Don Pedro."

I don't need my book, so I don't bother to retrieve it from the chair I recently occupied. It seems that Edward doesn't need his book either, which I must confess only serves to turn me on even more.

Banner starts talking now:

"_You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself – Be happy, lady! For you are like an honourable father."_

I wait to see what Edward is going to do. I don't have to wait long, as it happens, because as soon as the words have left Banner's lips, Edward's head snaps up and there is serious mischief in his beautiful green eyes as he looks at me and starts to speak.

"_If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is."_

_Oh ho, now_, I think. And then I give myself permission to hide behind Beatrice's skirts where it's safe.

"_I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick; nobody marks you."_

Benedick is angry now, and Beatrice loves goading him on.

"_What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"_

That was weak. Feel the burn, thinks Beatrice.

"_Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her presence."_

Benedick smirks.

"_Then is courtesy a turn-coat – But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart: for truly, I love none._

Beatrice was just waiting for an opening like this, and hands him his nuts on a platter, but she doesn't want the game to end too quickly, so she ladles some sauce over the nuts as well.

"_A dear happiness to women; they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your humor for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me."_

Benedick isn't afraid to use his pimp hand to show her she's not all that.

"_God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face."_

Excuse me? You are NOT that cute.

"_Scratching could not make it worse an t'were such a face as yours were."_

Quit making me feel like a loser. It's totally pissing me off, thinks Benedick.

"_Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher."_

Can you not even tell me that I look good, or that you've missed me, or anything even approaching a compliment or a non-insult? A crumb of attention that's not so awful, that's all I want, snaps Beatrice.

"_A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours."_

You are SUCH a bitch. How can you be so pretty and yet be such a bitch? You're giving me blue balls and a migraine, and I need to end this conversation before I say something really stupid. Oops…too late. Thought of something really dirty and mean to say anyway.

"_I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way o'God's name; I have done."_

I hate it when you shut us down by insulting me and then giving up. You should fight a little harder for me. If I saw you put in an ounce of effort, don't you know I'd give it all back and then some? I'd give you anything – everything – if you'd just be decent and normal for a change.

"_You always end with a jade's trick; I know you of old."_

I realize as the last words are leaving my lips that Edward and I have been staring at each other, moving closer and closer as we exchange beautiful, complicated insults. We are almost nose to nose now, and breathing so hard that we're panting, but the words have stopped and we have no idea where we are.

There is a brief moment of silence, which Edward breaks. "Uhm," he whispers very, very quietly.

"Yessssssssss…," I draw out the last letter until it becomes a reptilian hiss, and I have no control over that whatsoever.

Edward looks down again, breaking eye contact with me. "You're, uhm, you're standing on my shoe," he says, and is slightly apologetic about the whole thing.

I quickly remove the offending appendage from his toes and mumble "sorry" under my breath. It suddenly and simultaneously occurs to us that there are other people in the room. I look over at Alice and Jasper, and their jaws are gaping in true cartoon fashion. I'm not entirely sure what just happened, because really, Bella no esta en casa for that whole exchange. It was all Beatrice – I just took some kind of nap while she was yapping.

Banner clears his throat. "That'll work, I think. Yeah. Okay, see you all back here on Thursday."

I step back, turn around, and walk slowly to where Alice and Jasper are sitting. "Let's go," I murmur, because if I don't leave right this minute I will start dropping bits and pieces of myself like a breadcrumb trail from a fairytale. I grab my bag without looking at it and lead the way to the door.

# # #


	3. Strutting and Fretting

Strutting and Fretting

EPOV

I hear myself saying goodbye to Doug, but for the life of me I have no idea what the actual words mean, and even less of a clue as to how they're leaving my lips in what appears to be a coherent fashion. I know I didn't bring anything with me tonight other than my wallet and my car keys, both of which are in my pockets, so I'm pretty sure I'm free to just walk away after my mouth finishes saying whatever the fuck it is it's saying. The mouth closes, and I notice that my body is now moving toward the door. I observe with detached interest that the feet seem to remember where I left my car, so I let them take me wherever I need to go, hoping that when we get there another part of my anatomy will recall how to operate the vehicle and get me back home without causing grave bodily injury to another living thing.

I'm sitting in the car when clarity and connection return, and it's only now that I feel grounded in my body and reality once more.

_Jesus._

Taking a deep breath, I turn the key in the ignition, flip on the headlights, shift into D, and ease my right foot down on the accelerator.

"So," I say out loud, because I haven't spoken in my own voice with my own thoughts for what feels like hours. I take my left hand off the steering wheel and run my thumb and middle finger up the sides of my nose to the bridge, pushing my glasses onto my forehead. "That was extraordinary."

My hand returns to the wheel, although my dick is so hard that it could probably manage the steering all by its lonesome. I'm trying to remember when this got so difficult for me, when it was that I lost the ability to just be myself. My feet can find my car, but they have no idea how to carry me back to that place, and I'm now truly terrified that it might no longer exist. It might be like that island from "Lost" – just vanishing from space and time.

Chicago. I was in my first year of residency after passing the boards. My parents wanted me to move back in to their house in Lake Forest, but Eric and I bought a condo downtown instead. We were busy, very busy with work and women and wine. I wasn't exactly cocky, but Eric knew how to pull girls out of thin air and it was pretty easy for me to coast along with minimal charm and/or input. I knew I was boring because my idea of a good time didn't involve going out, getting drunk, and hooking up, but Eric convinced me that I needed to live a little in the world outside of books and plays and movies, so I did my best to throw myself into the mix and enjoy it.

And it wasn't bad. I mean, I didn't expect to really connect with anyone, so I didn't even try to – I just went out, made out, laid out, and moved on. My dick was pretty happy most of the time, and I still got to read my books and plays and watch my movies. Turns out that I didn't have to share too much of myself to keep the female platters spinning, and I had fun turning those women into characters in my head. I'd had a "Some Like It Hot" Marilyn, a slightly scary "Kill Bill" Uma, a crazy sexy "Star Wars" Carrie, and about a dozen others. I got to be Tony Curtis, and David Carradine, and Harrison Ford. The Tony Curtis/Marilyn one was particularly fun because I got to be Tony Curtis being Cary Grant. I couldn't explain to Marilyn why I was laughing as she took her clothes off, and it took me a good five minutes to calm her down because she thought I was laughing at her. She did calm down, though, and a few seconds later she was steaming up my eyeglasses.

And so it went. And everything was fine, until Eric decided to get serious with Lauren. I'll admit that I totally panicked, because I'd grown kind of fond of lots of sex, and if Eric wasn't going to find the women for me I wasn't sure I was capable of finding them on my own. So when Lauren offered to fix me up with her friend Tanya, I said "Yes" without a second's hesitation.

Tanya was pretty. Very, very pretty. She was Daryl Hannah from "Splash", and I can do a Tom Hanks like nobody's business, so we got along quickly and well. It was obvious that Eric wanted to move in with Lauren, so I asked Tanya if she wanted to consider moving into the condo with me. I could be Tom Hanks indefinitely, because he was easy to wear and Tanya seemed to really like him. Tanya cried the night I asked her about the condo. She was so happy. I started feeling a bit uneasy after our first week in the apartment, because she'd look over at my bookshelves and start asking me about my favorite novels and plays. She wanted to know what I liked about each one, and what I was thinking about when I'd finished reading them. I got really uncomfortable and made an excuse to go out for a run.

I was hoping she'd just kind of drop it and let me get back to the script, but she kept on trying to figure out what was going on in my head. I couldn't let her in there, because she was Daryl Hannah, and I'll be damned if Daryl Hannah gets to walk around in my cranium. She can camp out in Tom's cranium if she likes, but not mine. Clearly, this whole plan was seriously flawed.

Tanya moved out after about a month, and I can't blame her. I know she was very hurt, and I was miserable about the fact that I was the one who hurt her, but I just couldn't help myself. I put the condo up for sale the next morning and gave notice at the hospital. I wanted to get as far away from Chicago and the pain I'd caused as possible. My father's brother had a place in northern Washington near a good hospital, so I ran away from the big city and tried to put myself where I wouldn't hurt anyone else until I could figure out how to be a real boy again, like Pinocchio.

I'd been in Port Angeles for six months, and I still hadn't made much progress with the whole "real boy" plan, although I found it pretty easy to be myself around guys, because let's face it, they had no desire whatsoever to know what was going on in my head and I didn't want anything out of them. I met Doug Banner when he came to the ER with an attack of colitis. After we'd gotten that under control and were running some tests, Doug started talking about his theatre group and the various plays they'd done over the past few years. Understand that talk like that is like candy for me. Doug took me down to the bar across the street after he was discharged, and we hung out for hours, talking about different plays. It was awesome. He was gearing up for his next production, and he really wanted to do something different this time. I mean, "Our Town" and "Glass Menagerie" and "The Rainmaker" were all fine and good, but he was desperate to tackle something really ambitious. He'd decided on "Much Ado", and I did a little internal moonwalk at the thought of it.

I asked him how he went about casting, and he said that he had a bunch of students from the university and other local folks who were regulars in the productions, but that the whole Shakespearean element here was making him think that he'd have to cast a wider net. I made some comment about envying the lucky bastard who got to play Benedick, and that was pretty much all it took. Doug said he'd bring a copy of the play with him the next time he saw me to see if I could hack it, because he was all about thanking me for helping him earlier in the hospital and this was the only thing he could do to repay me. I immediately launched into Benedick's monologue from Don Pedro's garden trick, and I was in.

The next Sunday night, Carlisle and I were working the ER alone. It was pretty quiet, and my head was completely occupied with thoughts of the play. I'd just finished putting a temporary cast on a patient's broken tibia and went out to the main desk to update the status on the dry board. I noticed that I'd written labia instead of tibia on the chart, and was in the process of blushing and correcting myself when I heard a gasp in the waiting area and someone screamed "Ow."

And then I saw her.

She was so beautiful that I had to blink and readjust my vision because I was pretty sure that my contacts had popped out again without my knowledge. But no, they were in there, I was positive, so this wasn't a myopic malfunction. She was sitting next to a miniature Vivian Leigh, but I couldn't place her at all. Hers wasn't like any other face I'd ever seen, anywhere. Just now, it was creased with pain, lips tight and pale, the neck clearly strained. But even with that, she was absolutely and completely stunning – her soft, long brown hair, her pale skin, those big warm brown eyes, one lovely delicate hand reaching up to soothe the stress in her neck.

Her neck. She's in pain. I'm a doctor, and I should really do something to help her. But how the fuck can I get within a foot of her and pretend to be all calm and normal?

_Hippocrates, you bastard. Is there no clause about social dysfunction and overwhelming attraction in your stupid oath? Why is that? Can you not help a brother out, here?_

As I'm trying desperately to figure out how to calm down enough to go over there and do my freaking job, I see Carlisle come through the exam room doors and move quickly to her side to help her. Ah – he knows her. He knows this gorgeous woman and can just walk over there and put his hands on her neck and make it better for her. I'm so sad and jealous that I can't just shove his hands aside and do it myself, but I know that if I got that close to her I'd be totally useless. He does it like it's nothing, no big deal. If I was ever lucky enough and normal enough to touch her neck, it would be a Big Deal.

Carlisle calls her "Bella", and she is. Completely, heartbreakingly, unquestionably bella.

So I go home that evening and do some serious thinking. I need to become a real boy, and quickly, because every day that I don't know this Bella is a day I'm wasting. My first order of business is to see if I can get Carlisle to tell me something – anything – about her without it seeming too obvious that I'm panting for the information. I want to know how he knows her, what she likes to do in her spare time, whether or not she's single, if she likes her eggs scrambled or sunny side up or some other way, where she lives, what she drives, and if she's ever mentioned any particular aversion to kissing guys who are medical professionals. I don't want to stalk her or anything super creepy. I just figure that if I'm going to become a real boy, I should to be the kind of real boy she might like.

I can't sleep at all that night. All I see when I close my eyes is Bella's face, only in my imagination she isn't frowning or wincing in pain. Instead, she is smiling, and her smile is so sweet and potent that I can't bear to look at it for longer than a few moments because it's as blinding and brilliant as the sun. And then she laughs at something I've said and she takes my hand in hers and even if the dream stops right there it's still the best dream I've ever had or will ever have.

I should be exhausted from lack of sleep, but instead I'm feeling pretty damned frisky and bushy-tailed, so at 6 AM I get out of bed and go for a ten mile run. As I'm running, I'm making a plan. This week will be all about information gathering. When I go into the hospital later this afternoon, I will give myself permission to ask Carlisle at least one, but no more than three, questions about her. It won't be odd, because I was there last night and I saw her and saw that she knew him. I will ask about the other girl too, just so that it doesn't look as though I'm being too partial. How Carlisle answers these questions will determine which questions I follow up with on Tuesday. Just a few questions a day, and I'll have something to work with.

Carlisle comes down from his office to the ER at about dinnertime. We're still pretty slow, so I know I'll be able to grab a few minutes with him now.

"Hi Chief," I say.

"Dr. Masen," he answers with mock solemnity, then smiles. "How's it going down here today? Anything earth-shattering to report?"

"We had a geriatric who accidentally swallowed her partial, but other than that, it's been pretty lame," I laugh. Then I take a deep breath and dive in.

"Hey, who was that girl with the neck injury last night? Seemed like you knew her," I venture.

"Oh! That was Bella, my daughter Alice's old college roommate from Columbia. They were bringing me some dinner Esme insisted on sending over – she knows I die a little if she makes a roast and I miss it," he grins.

"The girls aren't still in college, though, are they?" I ask. I'm totally casual. I'm a goddamn leisure suit.

"Oh no – Bella's got her Masters and is teaching English over at the university, and Alice wants to try her hand at fashion designing. They just moved back here from New York a month or so ago. Still inseparable," he chuckles. "They're renting a house in Forks. To be honest, I was shocked that Alice was willing to leave New York; she really seemed to be enjoying herself and the job she had at Bergdorf Goodman. But she'd do anything for Bella, and Bella apparently had some kind of bad experience with a guy she was seeing there, so Alice wanted to get her out of town for a fresh start. Can't imagine any boy not treasuring her, too – she's such a darling."

I can barely restrain myself from dropping to my knees and thanking Carlisle for the info vomit. At this rate, I'll know her shoe size in the next ten minutes. But I don't want to push it, so when there's a pause in the spew, I drop it as gently as I can.

"I hope they're settling in and enjoying themselves," I'm wrapping up now, and making an Herculean effort to appear politely disinterested.

"I'm sure you'll be seeing them around the ER – to hear Alice tell it, Bella's pretty clumsy. Better stock up on finger splints and arm slings," he jokes, then picks up a stack of manila folders and starts walking away. "See you later, Edward."

"You bet, Chief," I answer.

English. She teaches English. She's read books and plays and loves language. She's a beautiful, smart, "darling". She's a trifecta of perfection. I need to be a real boy tout de suite.

Tuesday dawns. I'm feeling really great – optimistic and cheerful as hell, so I run another ten miles, hop into the shower, and head over to the hospital like a combination of all the dwarfs except for Grumpy and Sleepy. And maybe Sneezy. I'm a Happy, Bashful, Dopey Doc.

I'm also pretty psyched that today is audition day for "Much Ado". I'm going to try to leave work a little early so that I can see who else is making the cut for the cast. I know I should feel bad about taking Benedick without letting anyone else have a shot, but I'm too excited about saying the words to let the guilt slow me down. I sneak out of the hospital at about 7:30 and head over to the community center. I'm hoping I can just kind of keep a low profile and see who's in the rest of the cast, especially Beatrice. I really want to say the words to someone worthy of hearing them. I take my contacts out because they're totally bugging me and I put my glasses on instead. The glasses also serve as a kind of facial protection, a bit of a shield between me and people who might want to get to know me.

I walk in real quiet and make myself inconspicuous. Banner's talking to some guy who looks like he'd be great for Antonio, so I scan the room to see who might be claiming the other roles.

As my eyes roam over the folding chairs in the center of the room, I see soft brown hair and warm brown eyes, and those eyes are looking right at me.

_Flurgh. _

My breath leaves my body in a startling "whoosh", and I duck my head down to examine my shoes and pray that I'm just hallucinating. No. Shoes are extremely real, and I am here, and so are those eyes and every other glorious, unsettling thing that's attached to them.

Banner notices me and calls me over. I have no choice but to go, so I do, but I'm not going to risk looking around again, that's for sure.

Banner's assigning roles, and I swear to Christ I nearly have a massive coronary on the spot when he says "Bella" and "Beatrice" in the same breath. Half of me just died from the sheer bliss, and the other half of me just shat a brick and started weeping.

Then he says her name again, and this time, instead of saying "Beatrice" in the same breath, he says "Edward". I'm still not looking at anything more dangerous than the two square feet of flooring beneath me, but I can tell that Bella's headed this way, and she's also making it a point not to look in my direction.

Banner's asking both of us to stop being so shy and give it a chance. I sense that he's feeling he might have to find someone else for these parts, which only serves to increase my internal conflict, because I've got Bella, and Beatrice, and myself, and Benedick all running around like chickens in my brain and I really want all of them to stay there, join hands, and hug, or go out for coffee, or something.

I suddenly realize that at this point in time, there is no way I will be able to look at Bella's face and say these words and be a real boy, so I am forced to temporarily abandon the real boy plan and fall back to my default position. She's Beatrice, and I'm Benedick, and we're about to throw down for the first time in this play.

When I look up, I'm seeing only Beatrice, and I'm being only Benedick, so I can flash her a smirk and poke her with barbs because that's what we do, we two. I hope like hell she plays along because if she doesn't I will not be able to recover from this, like, ever.

What I get next takes my breath away. She is absolutely and completely Beatrice, the Beatrice of my dreams, and she's doing it all without a script in her hands. We are saying these amazing words and taunting each other as though the lines have spontaneously formed in our heads in real time. I don't do drugs, but I imagine that if I did, this would be the rough equivalent of the best hit of cocaine produced by Peruvian angels with fingers of softest silk and voices like sweet chapel bells on a sunny summer morning.

When we've reached the end of our verbal sparring, we are quite literally in each other's faces. I am no more than three inches from Bella's lips. I can smell the lovely floral fragrance of her hair, and I can feel the heat rising like a soft, moist veil from her flushed skin. We're both panting and breathless.

I can't stay here. I can't be this close, because I'm going to blow it, and if I blow it I will absolutely die.

I feel a strange, gentle pressure on my left foot. It's Bella's foot – she is standing on my toes. Desperate to create a diversion, I mention this to her and try to take the blame for our predicament onto my shoulders. It makes no sense whatsoever for me to do so, but I can't bear the thought that she might feel badly about touching me in any way.

She quickly shifts her foot and steps back, mumbling a soft apology. We suddenly notice that there are people who are not us somewhere nearby, and this helps to break the spell even further.

In an instant, she is backing away, she's turning around and walking through the door. And my brain is listening to my mouth babble to Banner, and then the feet take me to my car and my dick is driving me home.

As I park the car and kill the ignition, I come to a sudden and painful realization. Pinocchio has run out of time. There's only one thing I can do, and that is to pray with every fiber of my wooden being that somewhere out there, Jiminy Cricket is on his way to rescue me.


	4. Was ever a woman

**A/N – It should be absolutely obvious to you, but just in case it isn't, I do not own any Twilight but the one which settles over my house at roughly 6 PM each evening. Many, many thanks to those who've reviewed – you made me smile thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big with all your kind words!**

**# # #**

Was ever a woman in this humour woo'ed?

BPOV

I am finally outside again, where there is oxygen untainted by the scent of Edward. I am grateful for the untainted oxygen, because standing so close to him was a little like huffing glue for me. I have never huffed glue, but I've certainly seen a few news specials on the subject. He didn't smell like glue, but whatever it was that he smelled like went straight to my head and gave me a dizzy high.

I'm sucking down huge lungfuls of the clean, pure air when I hear Alice and Jasper come up behind me.

Nobody speaks for a moment. I know they are waiting for me to go first, so I turn around to face them and open my mouth.

"I'm not – " was all I manage to say before Alice finds her tongue and starts wagging it.

"Oh yes you are," she says. "You most definitely are."

Jasper laughs, and sounds like a devil as he's doing it. "Bella, come on now. You don't stand a chance against us, so we're gonna have that story out of you if we have to turn you upside down and shake it loose."

He links his arm through Alice's and the pair of them herd me into the restaurant like odd-lot sheepdogs. We sit in a booth in a corner – I'm on one side, and they are on the opposite bench, looking for all the world like the Spanish Inquisition. Or a firing squad.

I hold the menu in front of my face and study it very, very carefully. Alice grabs it from me and threatens to order boiled liver and Brussels sprouts if I don't stop stalling. The waitress chooses this moment to come over and take our orders – she then removes anything and everything that I could possibly have hidden behind from the table, and I'm left without shelter of any kind.

"Bella, give it up. Cuz if it comes down to a fight, my money's on the little one here," Jasper grins, and he looks so delighted by my obvious distress that I really want to punch the South right out of his mouth. His eyebrows are raised expectantly.

I take a deep breath. "I really have no idea what either of you want to hear from me. I also have no idea what that was, because I kinda checked out for a while there, so you probably have a better perspective on the whole thing than I do." I can't tell them that my brain turned to goo and the part of me that wasn't being Beatrice just wanted to stick my nose into the man's jaw and huff him in until I passed out, because that sounds pretty odd even when I say it to myself in my own head. I'm creeping me out.

Alice turns to Jasper. "Jasper, my sweet. You are a man, and a very fine looking one at that." She lowers her chin and looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes, which to my satisfaction completely unnerves him and causes him to dribble a little bit of the water he's sipping from the corner of his mouth. "Since Bella seems to be having some trouble collecting her thoughts, why don't we take a look at his behavior while we're waiting? I know you're going to help me understand, yes?"

Well of course he is, because he's so charmed and captivated by Alice at this point that he'd play in traffic if she asked him to.

"He looked downright terrified by her," Jasper muses. "No man on earth is that scared of a woman unless she's holding a weapon directly against his privates or he's so crazy about her that he'd actually hand her those weapons and direct her to his nether parts just to get a chance to talk to her about something. Bella, you've got the whip hand, honey. What are ya gonna do about it?"

"You think he's scared of me? What on earth did I do to scare him?" I'm boggled.

Alice considers the matter. "I can't imagine. You're really not scary at all, in any obvious way."

Jasper purses his lips at me. "Told you so. Not scary."

"Wait for it," I threaten half-heartedly, and sigh. "How the hell am I supposed to do this with him being all, you know, him and stuff? I have to act scenes against kryptonite. I can't even be in the same room with him right now - whatever that was, it was NOT normal. And in less than two days, I'm going to have to do it again. I should tell Banner I'm pulling out of the play."

"Under no circumstances will I let you quit this play, Bella," Alice smiles, but it is the smile of a woman who means business. "We'll just have to figure out how to make the two of you a little more comfortable around each other, is all."

Unbidden, visions of Alice locking Edward and myself up in a closet came to mind. I wouldn't put it past her for a second, the managing little minx. Edward…in a closet…in the dark…with the sledgehammer…

Shut up, Bella's malnourished sex drive.

"Alice, he can't look at me, and I can't look at him. I'm pretty sure that it's going to be impossible for you or anyone else to make us comfortable around each other anytime soon – and certainly not soon enough to matter when it comes to doing this stupid play."

"Well, we know why you can't look at him, right? Jasper honey, cover your ears," Alice smiles. He grins maniacally and places his hands lightly over his ears so that he'll still hear every word she's about to say. "Bella, you're so crazy about this guy that you almost broke your neck on Sunday. If you think I'm going to let you walk away without making something happen between the two of you, you really haven't been paying attention to me these past eight years. You can't just stand up in a room and have super hot word sex with an attractive man and not expect me to campaign for more. That was some government-funded-study-worthy chemistry."

I look into her eyes, begging her to understand. "Al, I'm not ready. I'm just not ready, and I can't be that girl who doesn't care right now. I don't think I'm good for anyone at the moment, and I'm positive I'm not up to a challenge like this guy. I need training wheels and a helmet, and he's a rocket ship. I have no self-confidence at all. I don't want to get hurt."

Alice furrows her brows, but Jasper reaches over and puts one of his large, warm hands on top of mine. "Bella, I know we don't know each other that well, but you need to listen to a guy on this one, so pretend I'm your long-lost big brother. Whatever's going on in Edward's head, he's clearly got some kind of a thing for you, and you've clearly got a thing for him. I'm not sayin' you need to jump on him, but why not just give him a chance to hang around you and get to know you a bit?"

"But I can't even form a coherent sentence around him," I wail. "How is he supposed to get to know me if all I do in his presence is make an ass of myself?" I eye him suspiciously. "Are you saying I'm an ass all the time?"

Jasper laughs and shakes his head, then thinks for a moment. "How about you just kind of take a tip from Beatrice? You know, you had no trouble at all staring him down and giving him the goods when you were saying the lines. Just pretend you're Beatrice."

"And how exactly is that going to help him get to know the real me?" I ask.

"There's a bit of Beatrice in you, Bella. Just show him that bit, and maybe the rest of you will follow."

I consider the option. I love Beatrice, but didn't I just get through telling myself that I'm no hellcat? Then I think a little more about Beatrice – about how she's so mushy on the inside but terrified of letting Benedick see how much he affects her. I can put a big check-mark next to that on my list of things we have in common, because I would die if Edward knew exactly how my bones melt when I look at him and how very much I'd like to curl up next to him and huff him for extended periods of time.

I'm hiding that because I desperately need to. Can I cover it with snark? If I keep exploding into confetti every time he's near me, he'll surely catch on PDQ and if he's a bastard, he'll hurt me worse than Jake ever had the ability to hurt me. I've got lots of words at my disposal. I'm full-to-bursting with words. I don't have to show him all of me, and I don't have to show him the parts that could wither away and perish if he placed rough and careless hands on them. I can lock those up for safekeeping, and hide behind Beatrice's skirts, because she knows how to protect herself and there's precious little chance either of my friends here will play the same kind of trick on me that Beatrice's friends play on her.

"I guess I can…try…," I say uncertainly.

Alice claps her hands, because she is Alice and this is what Alice does whenever she watches me step out on a tightrope without a net. "Fabulous! We'll help, won't we, Jasper?" She gives him the eyelashes again, and he's a goner. I knew he was a romantic fool, but he needs to grow a pair and stop letting her slap the leash on him at every opportunity, because he'll be standing in front of her tri-fold mirror modeling evening gowns in a day or two if he doesn't have a care and guard his masculinity while he still can.

We finish dinner and drive Jasper back to his car. I pretend to suddenly develop an intense and unnatural interest in the contents of my bag, rummaging around for my cell phone so that I have a handy excuse for being in a hurry to head for my car and leave the two of them alone.

"Shit!" I say. "I didn't realize it was so late – I promised my mom I'd call her tonight. Jasper, I'm gonna just run over to my car and make the call. I'll see you tomorrow – thanks for everything. See you at home, Al," I finish, and roll the dice on breaking my ankle by hurtling out of her car and making a dash to my own. I'm no Carnac the Magnificent, but I can see some spit-swapping in Jasper's immediate future, and I don't want to be there to catalogue the experience for either one of them.

Alice and I meet up again in the living room about an hour later. She bounces through the door and does a little twirl for me.

"Bella, he's drrrrrrrrrreamy," she purrs. I laugh at her and throw a magazine at her head.

"So I take it you and Jasper are now a thing?"

She smiles a 50,000 watt smile. "Oh yes, we are a thing. We are a definite thing. We are a thing that I don't think I've ever been before. He's a total toe-curler; I can't believe you waited a whole month to introduce us," she pouts.

"Didn't I need time to do my own recon on him and make sure he wasn't hiding a wife and seven children somewhere in Abilene?" I tease. "I only pick from the top of the tree for you, my precious."

Alice sighs. "We're having dinner again tomorrow night. I'm sorry to tell you that you're not invited and must make do with the leftover tuna noodle casserole here. But just think," she continues, "if you gave Doctor Awesome a chance, you too could be enjoying a fresh meal and a little footsie under the table."

I frown at her. "Alice, I said I'd try. I can't promise you I won't fail miserably, but I'll try. Now you need to leave me alone about it or I'll just crank up the freak-out until it's so loud our neighbors call the police."

"What's your class schedule like tomorrow?"

"I have a lecture in the morning and I'm done at about 2 o'clock. What do you need?"

"Come shopping with me. I have an idea," Alice says.

"Oh really now," I raise my eyebrows at her. "And would this idea have anything to do with dressing Bella up in some kind of ridiculous hootchie mamma outfit to make poor Edward hide under a folding chair while I burn with the mortification of a thousand suns?"

She laughs at me. "No, no – nothing like that, I swear. No hootchie mamma. But I do think that you might be in need of a costume of sorts if you're going to be playing a part."

I do not trust in Alice's ability to restrain herself when it comes to wardrobe choices. "What did you have in mind?" I ask her warily.

"I won't know until I see it. But I'll see it, and you have to promise to wear it when I find it. If nothing else, it should distract you from your neuroses."

"You hope to distract me from my neuroses by adding a new neurosis? You're a trip, you crazy midget," I tease. "Oh, and speaking of midgetry, Jasper's like twice your size. You need to shop for a nice pair of hiking boots if you're going to climb that mountain."

I meet her at The Alley Cat Boutique after my last class the next day, and Alice has already stacked up five or six different options for me to consider. We trudge over to the dressing room so that I can try them on for her. She waves them all away with a disgusted air until we reach the last one, which makes her eyes go wide as two blue moons, so I suspect we're onto something now.

"Oh, Bella, yes," she breathes. "Yes, absolutely yes."

I turn to look at myself in the mirror. I'm wearing a sapphire-blue brushed-cotton shirtdress that has a very vintage Bettie Page feel to it. It's got three-quarter length sleeves with a silver button detail at the cuffs, and the skirt is full and round and reaches just below my knee. The bodice is extremely fitted and the collar is a true shirt collar with wide lapels and more silver buttons running down the placket at the front. There's a slim matching belt at the waist.

The dress makes me feel…I feel sort of grown-up, I suppose. This is not the dress of a young girl – it's the dress of a woman who knows herself. I feel feminine but not in a weak way. I feel strongly feminine in this dress, and while it's undeniably sexy, it's not revealing in any way. It feels like sapphire blue psychological armor.

I nod my head at Alice and she smiles benevolently. I need a pair of kitten heels for this dress – under ordinary circumstances, the word "heel" and I do not get on at all well, but a tiny little one-inch heel is no higher than my regular shoes, and as long as we're not buying slip-ons, I'm pretty sure I can make it work for an evening. Alice hunts down a pair of black sling-back kitten heels that are perfect. She will not let me leave until we've cruised through the lingerie section, because she's adamant that wearing boring underwear with this dress will totally defeat the purpose. She picks out a thin black chiffon corset with a satin ribbon detail and matching panties. I think the underwear is a bit of overkill, but when I put the corset on it suddenly makes the costume feel of the whole thing so much more potent for me.

I'm Beatrice, and I take no shit. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war, Benedick. Bring it.

Purchases made and bags thrown into the car, I'm headed home. Alice decides that waiting another two hours to see Jasper is a waste of their mutual ogling time, so she scurries back to the university to sit in on his last class of the day. I would pay cash money to watch him try to concentrate with her at the back of the room, and think to myself that even though he doesn't believe I'm evil and dangerous, I've set Alice on him, and he will soon realize the full power of my abilities to torture him.

I settle in for a quiet evening of paper grading and tuna casserole, but my thoughts turn all-too-frequently to Edward. I wish I knew what he was thinking when he looked at me suffering near-whiplash. His face was so strange, as though I'd done something to make him angry or frightened, and I couldn't imagine what that might have been. He has such a nice face. I mean, setting aside for one moment the fact that he is impossibly good-looking and that surely hasn't escaped the notice of every female within a 100-mile radius, Edward has a kind face. There are no furrows in his brow, no angry creases between his eyes to warn of a temper. His eyes are clear and intelligent, and he's sporting the tiniest laugh lines at each outer corner. His is a face that wants to smile, and I suspect that Edward smiling would cause the lust sublimation I experience in his presence to shift into hyperdrive and carry me all the way to the nearest convenient morgue.

I want to believe that he's a nice person, and that we'll get a chance to know each other and like each other and after liking each other for long enough, we'll add a "c" to that word and be licking each other as well. And I can't believe I just thought that – It's stupendously out of character for me, but it's true all the same.

Shaking my head, I get back to my paper grading and tuna and fall asleep on the couch somewhere around midnight. I have the strangest dream about engaging in hand-to-hand combat while wearing full Elizabethan court dress. I wake up two hours later, blaming the reheated tuna for the strange dream. Alice isn't home yet, which means that she and Jasper have likely jumped the broom of carnal knowledge and I'll be forced to look at his smug and delirious face tomorrow morning. I'll probably see Alice's equally smug and delirious face even sooner, because she'll definitely come traipsing in here at the crack of dawn and being none too quiet about it, either. I grin at the thought and am genuinely pleased.

Stretching out the stiffness and yawning, I get off the couch and pad over to the front door to turn off the hall light and go upstairs.

Alice has no mercy, because at 6:30 she's jumping on my bed to wake me up and spill her secrets.

"BellaBellaBellaBella," she squeals. "Wake up this instant. How can you sleep when I'm in love?"

I squint at her. "You're in love?"

She laughs and sighs and nods. "Oh yeah. Love, baby. Big time love. Isn't that totally crazy? But I just know it – I feel it. It's not a lie, and it's not a fantasy, and it's not even the by-product of lust, although there's plenty of that going around too. Jazz is just – oh my God, he's just – just totally and completely perfect. He's funny, and smart, and sweet, and – oh, and a GREAT kisser – and –" she stops talking as though the next thing she has to say is so massive that she needs a whole separate breath for it – "Bel, he really likes to talk about clothes and fashion and stuff. He has_ opinions_," she whispers reverently.

Now, I'm not entirely sure that Jasper's not pulling her leg over that, but if he is, he's sure one smooth operator and I've totally underestimated him and his slow southern charm.

We hug and squeal like five year-olds, and I beg Alice not to give me a graphic blow-by-blow of her night with him because I have to work with him every day and I don't really want to be thinking about which way his junk hangs or what he likes to do with his tongue. Maybe some day, but not today. Alice understands this for the moment, but I know that her forbearance in this particular area is not likely to last more than a few days.

I get up and take a shower, then realize that today is the day I'm going to need my Beatrice armor. I wander into Alice's room wrapped in a towel and remind her that I've got to dress for battle in a corset and kitten heels, and she is instantly and entirely focused on the task.

I suit up while she thinks about what she wants to do with my hair. I don't even argue with her because she's so much better at this stuff than I'll ever be, and I'm going to need every ounce of brain function today. She dries my hair until it's damp and then sets it in large hot rollers while she examines my face. I get some mascara, a little eyeliner, some powder, and some sheer lip gloss. We both know that blush is redundant for me, because Mother Nature has already supplied that in overly generous amounts.

She takes the hot rollers out and fluffs my hair, parting it off to one side and spraying the ends very lightly with a bit of hair spray to make sure that the curls stay perky. Then she secures the heavier side loosely with a small hair comb and steps back to admire the effect.

"Perfect," she proclaims, dragging me over to the full length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I look at myself, and it's me, but it's not. I put my chin up a little and even I can see that I'm a force to be reckoned with. It's like magic.

I bump into Jasper in the department offices during a break between classes. He looks as though he got about twenty minutes of sleep the night before, but he's glowing. I smirk at him and ask him how he's doing, and he gives me an enormous smile and sighs. He sighs. I don't need my fancy schmancy education to tell me that in front of me stands a happy man, loved up right and crazy about a decent woman. I take my finger and poke him in the chest a few more times to let him know that I am still up for making his life a living hell if he hurts or mistreats her in any way, and I announce that she has a brother who could easily pick him up and fold him into a paper clip if anything should go awry. His reaction surprises and touches me – he's suddenly very serious, and tells me that her brother wouldn't get the chance to break him because he'd rather kill himself stone cold dead than harm a hair on Alice's head.

And then Jasper takes a good long look at me.

"Holy Moses, Swan – you look absolutely fantastic today."

"Gee, thanks. I only hope it's enough protection from the terror that awaits me this evening," I blush.

"No worries, Bella – you've got backup, and we won't let you fall," Jasper promises.

I'm not entirely sure how they plan on protecting me from the lust sublimation and internal meltdown, but I don't ask questions because asking questions only leads to obsessing and brain freeze. Instead, I go for the cheap laugh, and ask him when he developed what Alice assures me is a passionate interest in fashion. He has the grace to look mildly ashamed, but tells me that fashion is art and he's a fan of beauty in any form.

He's a smooth criminal, this Jasper Whitlock.

We agree to meet in the parking lot at 5:30 to head over to the community center for rehearsals. Jasper tells me he's getting out early this afternoon so he'll run back to Forks to pick up Alice. I have no idea why he feels a ruse of any kind is necessary here when I'm pretty sure she's going to end up at his place again tonight, but I play along and nod in agreement.

As the afternoon wears on and I'm pinch-hitting for Denise in Comp Lit, I have to keep battling back these random attacks of hysteria that threaten to interrupt my lecture. I have no reason to be hysterical, because Edward doesn't mean a thing to me…yet. If I make a complete spectacle of myself tonight and cause him to laugh himself into apoplexy, I will have lost nothing valuable, and I will survive the embarrassment and the disappointment and move on with friends and family intact. And I look great today. And I'm Beatrice, so I kick ass as well.

So there, Edward. Do your worst.

Jasper, Alice and I meet up in the parking lot. They drive over to the community center in Alice's car, but I insist on taking my own and meeting them there. I flip the vanity mirror on the visor down to take a final look at myself: I am strong, and confident, and I have lots of words. Great words that slice and skate and joust and deflect. I'll use them all if I have to, but I won't attack unless provoked. Edward's face is a kind face, and I hope with my whole heart that he won't make me sad about deciding to go through with this.

We all walk downstairs to rehearsal together, with Jasper leading the way. We are early, I see, as only half of the cast is in the room. The chairs are set up in a circle, and there seem to be plenty of extra chairs, so I put my bag down on the chair to my right, and Alice takes the seat to my left with Jasper on her other side.

I smile at everyone around me and am both relieved and anxious when I note that Edward isn't here yet.

People are slowly filtering in as we get close to 6PM. I force myself to sit up straight with my chin slightly lifted, and I am making what appears to be casual conversation with Alice and Jasper. They know I will not look over at the door unless my life depends on it, so they are keeping a sly watch and they'll let me know when Edward arrives so that I can prepare myself. I feel stupid for needing to prepare myself to be in the same room as a total stranger, but there you have it: I need to, so I will.

Banner walks in, carrying a leather backpack and a portfolio under his arm. He's dreadfully excited, and I remember that I'm honestly overjoyed to be involved with this play, and in a role I adore.

Alice nudges me at about 5:55, presumably to let me know that Edward is in the house. I am still sitting up tall and feel pretty cool. I can't see him yet, but my nostrils are already hunting for the smell of him, because my nostrils are selfish little addicts and need a huff soon. Can't be helped; I need to breathe.

I suddenly notice that most of the chairs are full – I'd forgotten to account for the understudies as extra bodies. Crap. Of course, now that I look around, I can see that every SINGLE chair in the circle is occupied by a body, save the chair next to me, on which still rests my stupid bag. I pick up the bag and slide it under my chair. I know now that I am the architect of my own demise, because Edward has not taken any other chair, and must therefore park himself right next to me for the next three hours. Bella, you brilliant, brilliant girl. Your luck is to weep over.

I take another deep breath, and feel Alice squeeze my arm. She's there. Okay, then.

Edward sits down next to me. I can see the Pearl Izumis and a pair of ridiculously long, lean legs clad in dark rinse denim. Steeling myself, I turn my head to face him so that I can say "Hello" and not be a total moron from the get-go.

And…there's that face. And the huffable aroma. He's looking straight ahead instead of at me, and I allow myself a brief moment to commit this ridiculous profile to memory. His jaw is so sharp that I could probably hone my kitchen knives on it. Just now, that jaw is covered in the same delicious stubble he wore at the hospital on Sunday. I permit myself one small and subtle whiff of him as I inhale to speak.

"Hello Edward – I'm Bella, we met on Tuesday but didn't really get a chance to talk. I'm really looking forward to playing with you," I say.

I am a fucking rock star.

"That is, I'm looking forward to working with you on the play, you know." Now I just want to die, and we're only twenty seconds in to this never-ending nightmare.

Edward makes a sound that is suspiciously like a whinny.

"Excuse me – did you just – _whinny_ – at me?" I say, before I can stop myself. I'm a total verbal menace.

He finally turns his unbelievable eyes up to meet mine. What I see there starts the whole bone-melting process, but I battle back and regain composure.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, presumably about the whinnying. "It's very nice to meet you…Bella."

He extends his aforementioned sickeningly beautiful right hand in my direction, and I grasp it lightly with my own, which I pray is comparatively free of telltale nervous perspiration. When our hands meet, the entire room snaps out like a rubber band, warping time and space and perception. My breath hitches slightly, and I release him. The rubber band room snaps back into shape, wobbling slightly before it settles.

_What. The. Holy. Hell._

Banner clears his throat. It's time to get started, so I turn my gaze away, although I notice that Edward is slightly less inclined to copy me as he keeps staring at my profile for a moment. Turnabout is fair play – I've had the opportunity to study his jaw, and he should enjoy the same privilege in return.

"Hello again, everyone, and welcome – I'm really excited about working with all of you on this production, and I know we're going to have a great time. Did everyone remember to bring the Penguin solo edition of the play? I have an extra copy or two in case someone's forgotten theirs. Anyone?" Banner looks around the room and sees that miraculously, everyone really has come prepared. I am holding my book in my lap, even though it's nothing more than a prop. Edward appears to be doing the same, and I note that his copy is as worn and tattered as mine. This is clearly not his first day at the "Much Ado" rodeo.

"Okay then, let's start. I want to see if we can get through a complete reading tonight. We might not make it, but let's give it a shot, shall we? Act I, Scene i. Enter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, with a Messenger."

And I'm up.

# # #


	5. Let's kill all the lawyers

**# # #**

Let's kill all the lawyers

EPOV

When the alarm goes off on Wednesday morning, I am a bit of a broken man.

I'm totally messed around in mind, body, and spirit. I hobbled out of my car last night, still sporting some serious lumber in my jeans, and had no choice but to hop into the shower and relieve myself. As I lathered up and started stroking, all I could think about was the way Bella's hair smelled, and how it felt to have her soft beauty so close to me that I could literally feel her breath on my neck as we panted at each other. But as the memory rolled out and the strokefest continued, Bella the girl morphed into Beatrice Bella, hurling insults at my head, mocking me, taunting me, making me prove that I was clever enough to go a round or two with her. And that was pretty smokin' hot too.

When I was done, I felt awful. Had I just kind of cheated on Bella with…Beatrice Bella?

I'm a doctor, a man of science, and I think I really need to check into whether or not there's some kind of accepted clinical diagnosis for the illness I have. If there isn't, and this whole thing goes pear-shaped, I might at least be able to publish something about it in the _New England Journal of Medicine._ I'll call it Masen's Malady. I can't wait to see what my mother makes of that, and I'm pretty sure this issue of NEJM won't end up on the coffee table in Lake Forest.

The early shift at the hospital means that I can't run off my frustrations this morning, so they haunt me all day long. I am rarely ever outwardly grouchy, especially at work, because people who have to go to hospitals bring enough pain and discomfort in with them, and it's my job to make things better, not worse. So I lock it all up and get on with the business of tending, and healing, and comforting. It makes me feel a little bit better that I can do something good for someone else, like I have a use and a purpose and am not just some crazy deviant who can't figure out how to function in a normal conversation with a girl he really likes.

I end my shift at five, but I really don't want to go home, and now I'm a little too tired to face a run. So I decide to do something I have never done before – I walk to the bar across the street where Doug and I chatted. I look down the street and I can see the multiplex marquee – I could watch a movie, but that sort of feels as though it would just feed my illness at this point, so I stay on course and plan to drink myself into a cozy little stupor to escape for a while.

The bar is dark and relatively quiet. It's not really a happy hour bar, but more of a lunch and late night place, so 5 PM is a perfect time to sit here and be miserable. I order three fingers of whiskey and a Rolling Rock, then get lost in my thoughts.

About fifteen minutes later, as I sit at the bar with my head in my hands, I hear someone come through the door – he greets the bartender with familiarity, then grabs a stool next to me and orders some Seagram's. I don't look up because I'm very busy feeling like shit.

We sit in companionable silence for a while, but then the guy leans over to me and taps me gently on the shoulder.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

I honestly don't know where to start, so I just say "My dick drove me home last night."

Oddly, this seems to make some kind of sense to him, because he nods his head. "That's rough, man. Wanna talk about it?"

"I'm crazy about a girl and I have no idea how to be myself around her." I'm hopeless and I sound like such a pussy.

"Hmmm," the guy says. "What do you mean you have no idea how to be yourself around her?"

I look over at him. He's clearly got a grip – he's about my age give or take a year or two, with an open, friendly face. I have nothing to lose, so I fill him in on what life was like in Chicago with Marilyn and Uma and Carrie and Daryl. And I tell him that I'm so used to not talking about what's going on in my head that I think I totally forgot how to do it.

The guy says nothing – I can see he's processing the information, so I wait and hope that he turns out to be a Jiminy Cricket in some form.

"Well, you're talking to me and I don't think you're quoting from any movies or anything. Your story is seven different kinds of wacky, borderline-kinky shit, so I'm gonna assume you can tell the truth. I think you know how to be yourself just fine. What I think you don't want to do is bore her or you. Here's a tip – most people are really boring as hell. And that's okay, yanno? If you're with someone who likes the same boring things you do, all is well. Do you have any idea what this girl likes?"

I nod. "She's definitely into books and plays the way I am, that I know for sure. She's quiet and smart, but she's got this look in her eye that lets you know she can laugh at a joke."

"She pretty?"

I look at him as though he has three heads. "She's perfect. I mean, perfect."

"I think you're making this way more complicated than it needs to be. Girls like it when you roll up on them with a little attitude. You are seriously lacking attitude at the moment, dude – no offense."

"None taken. It's all too true. And it's not like I ever had a ton of attitude to begin with – my parents were big on being polite, and respectful, and modest. My roommate Eric was always trying to get me to go out and do things, but the stuff I really like doesn't usually involve a crowd of people, so I kind of keep to myself a lot. I think that's probably why I had to borrow attitude from movie stars." Holy crap – that made total sense to me. Massive epiphany courtesy of bar dude.

"You need to lighten up, big time. Quit being so serious and just have a little fun. Play a game or two – not a head game, because I hate that crap, it's mean – I'm talking about teasing her a little. Trust me; girls say they want a man who'll just be nice and honest and lovey all the time, but that is complete and total horseshit. What they want – what ALL of 'em want – is someone who keeps them just a little bit on edge. Sure, you have to be nice and decent and all of that if you want any shot at a good girl – but they all want a guy who makes 'em guess a little. Act like you know what you're doing and you know what you want. Swagger a little, man. Be a jackass every now and then. It's like this: you say you like to read, right?"

I nod.

"Okay, so what would you do if someone came up to you and started talking smack about your favorite book in the world?"

I stop to think. "I'd probably tell whoever didn't like '_Atlas Shrugged'_ that they were an idiot."

"Right. That's attitude right there. Own it."

I nod my head, because all of what he's saying sounds like a great idea. I just have to figure out how to make it happen, but that's my nut to crack, not his. I suddenly realize that we've been yakking all about me and I know nothing about him, so I ask him what he does for a living.

"I don't do anything at all at the moment – I'm a student," he laughs. I panic a little because I'm sure he goes to Bella's university, so I ask him if he's taking any English courses.

"Naw, man – I'm in law school. I don't mix with the undergrad crowd. My head is full of property law at the moment."

"So what are you doing sitting here in a bar on a Wednesday evening? I thought you guys worked as hard as we did in med school. I knew I should have taken the legal route," I joke.

"I've been working my balls off, thank you very much. I'm waiting for my girlfriend at the moment – her job keeps her pretty busy and between that and school, we haven't been spending a lot of time together. She wanted to see a movie tonight, so we're meeting up here and heading down the block."

"Sounds nice. You two been together a while?"

"Some days it feels like forever. And then some days, it feels like I just met her," he smiles. "And that, my friend, is love. But yeah, we've been together since we were teenagers. She kicks ass, my girl. I got very, very lucky."

The door to the bar opens again and we both automatically turn our heads.

"Ha," says bar dude. "Speak of the angel. Here she is now, only thirty minutes late."

The girl walks over to him and gives him a kiss. "Shut up. I'm worth waiting for. Were you ragging about me?"

He snakes his arm around her waist. "Absolutely. I was just complaining to this guy over here that you're an enormous pain in my ass, even though you're the hottest girl on the planet."

"Sure, sure. Let's motor or we'll miss the movie." She looks me up and down suspiciously.

The guy reaches for his wallet and I grab his arm. "No chance. Drink's on me. Thanks for the chat."

"Anytime, uh – hey, I never even caught your name," he laughs.

"Edward." I shake his hand.

"Hey Edward. I'm Emmett, and this gorgeous piece of bad news is Rose." He stands up and throws his arm over her shoulder. "Come on, baby. Let's roll." As he's walking toward the door, he turns his head over his shoulder to look at me. "Swagger, man. Keep it real."

I wave goodbye and they leave. I'm feeling much better than I was when I came in here, and Emmett's given me a lot to think about. I finish my beer, settle the tab and head home to ponder.

I have the early shift again on Thursday so I can make rehearsal on time. As I'm picking out clothes for work, I think about swagger and attitude. I want to wear something that gives off a bit of a vibe, so I stand in front of my closet to see if there's anything in there that screams attitude. My closet is full of jeans, t-shirts, oxfords, and plain v-neck sweaters. I'm a modern day Mr. Rogers. Lame. I reach for a white oxford because anything with a collar has to have more attitude than a t-shirt or a sweater, and my options are clearly pretty limited. The wardrobe dilemma has taken more time than anticipated, and I don't have a chance to shave. Hopefully this will serve to increase the whole swagger effect.

We're stupid busy in the ER today, and I don't have a second to think about anything other than the tasks at hand. I finally get out of there and rush over to the community center. In a way, it's a good thing that I didn't have much of a chance to get all freaked out and overthink things, because I feel pretty cool right now.

I grab my book, lock the car, and walk in to the rehearsal space. There is a circle of chairs which all seem to be full, and it's pretty close to 6, so we're starting in a few minutes. I scan the circle to see if Bella's here. My eyes find her pretty quickly.

_Holy crap._

She's completely hot and beautiful under the most ordinary circumstances, and in the plainest, most ordinary clothes. But today she's not in anything even close to plain or ordinary. Today she's wearing this amazing blue dress that makes her look like – I can't even say what it makes her look like, because I've honestly never seen anything or anyone to compare it to.

And I suddenly realize why I have never been able to place her face. It's because she is the improbable amalgam of every single sex fantasy I have ever had, all rolled into one person. She is Marilyn, and Uma, and Carrie, and Daryl, and Ava Gardner, and Raquel Welch, and Lauren Bacall, and Veronica Lake, and Barbarella, and Clarice Starling – Jesus, she's just all of them at once. She's even Betty Boop. It's too much for me to deal with. I want to drag her out of the room like a total caveman, throw her up against a wall in the hallway, lift her skirt, and slam myself into her until we're both sweaty and screaming. I want to wrap her hair around my wrist and pull her head back so I can lick and bite her neck. I honestly don't think I could be more turned on if she were naked and leaning up against a counter waving her ass at me, although I'm perfectly willing to test the theory if I ever get the opportunity to. That dress is innocent and sophisticated and modest and sexy all at the same time, and it's driving me completely mental.

She's probably not doing it intentionally, I reason. If she is, then she really fights dirty.

Either way, I need a minute to calm the hell down and remember that I'm nowhere near a fuck-you-up-against-a-wall situation with her. _It's just a dress, Edward. Cool it._

After some kind of order's been restored, I start walking towards the chair circle. When I reach it, I notice that all the chairs are taken…except for the one right next to Bella. The chair has a bag on it, which Bella moves under her seat to indicate that the chair is not taken by anyone. Was she saving the seat for me? Again, if she was, she fights dirty, and she's guessed that this is going to make me a basket case.

_God, is this some kind of test? You're clearly a cruel bastard if it is – you and Hippocrates conspire against me. Is it not enough for you that I haven't jumped her and I'm going to try the whole swagger thing? What would bar dude Emmett do here?_

Fresh out of other options, I take the seat. I stare in front of me for a moment to make sure that the "jump on her" impulse is somewhat checked. I'm breathing deeply through my nose to slow my heart rate.

"Hello Edward – I'm Bella, we met on Tuesday but didn't really get a chance to talk. I'm really looking forward to playing with you," she says quietly.

_Kill. Me. Now. She said she's looking forward to playing with me?_

This one sentence, because it has fallen from _her _lips, is all it takes to start a frightening chain reaction from my head to my toes. My dick leaps up like it's some kind of sick marionette on a string. Sweat starts to trickle down my back. My hair feels as though someone put a static-charged balloon next to it, and I'm pretty sure I'm now rocking a Don King effect up there. My legs are numb. I no longer seem to have any mastery whatsoever over my nervous system – it's all holiday in Edward's brain stem. It's as though my earlier reaction to the dress she's wearing was just the opening act for a massive collapse of every single function in my body.

Out of reflex, I'm sure, my ear hears her correct herself and say something about looking forward to working with me on this play. I am fighting like hell to remember exactly which species I belong to, and I can't move a muscle until I figure that shit out and retake control of the ship.

The effort this costs me is enormous, and while I'm struggling, a few levees spring a leak or two, as might only be expected in a siege of this magnitude. My mouth opens up and I hear myself whinny like a horse. There is a small part of me that pauses briefly to admire the sweet justice of a man named Edward, who has spent the majority of his adulthood imitating various stars of stage and screen for the purposes of obtaining sex, now being reduced by this woman to imitating a famous talking horse of the same name from 1950s television. From this day forward, there will always be a reason for me to avoid reruns of "Mr. Ed" at all costs, as the memory they dredge up will be too embarrassing and painful to bear.

"Excuse me - did you just- whinny – at me?" Bella asks. She sounds a little outraged, and really, who can blame her? I don't. I'd be pretty pissed as well if I were in her shoes.

I spend another moment or two sobering the fuck up and rejoining the here-and-now. I still don't trust myself to engage in anything even remotely resembling a casual conversation, but I have to address Whinnygate and let her know that I didn't mean anything disrespectful by it.

I turn and look at her now, and hopefully she'll see in my eyes that I wasn't being satirical in the least.

"I'm sorry," I say. Nobody deserves to be whinnied at by a semi-psychotic theater-loving social misfit, least of all this beautiful girl. "It's nice to meet you…Bella."

I am apparently some kind of glutton for punishment, because I unthinkingly extend my hand out for her to shake. My hand is on a kamikaze mission. But something strange happens to me as I feel her little hand grasp mine. I am suddenly completely calmed by the contact, as though I'm returning to a home of some kind after a very long absence. The world is still for a moment, and I feel more peaceful than I've ever felt in my life. It's an absolute and unexpected miracle.

She releases my hand and I can finally breathe again. It's a total system restore - I've rebooted.

Amazingly, this entire episode has taken about five minutes. It felt a lot longer on my end.

Banner starts the read-through. I love this play so much, but I find myself tapping my foot and waiting impatiently until Beatrice and Benedick are talking to each other. I try not to look at Bella while we're reading, because I don't want to make her uncomfortable and I'm not sure I'll be able to say these words to her while looking at her and not add action to the dialogue.

She glances at me occasionally, but I think we are both trying very hard not to repeat what happened on Tuesday. There are too many people involved in this at the moment, and many of them are coming to the experience of Shakespeare for the very first time in their lives. If this goes well, they might be hooked forever. I don't want to mess with that, and I don't think she does, either.

But when Beatrice calls Benedick "the prince's jester" and "a very dull fool", I remember what a bumbling, whinnying freak of an idiot I must have looked like when I first sat down, and the comment stings. I'm getting a little defensive for no reason – it's not as though Bella wrote these words, but she's saying them about me, so it's kind of hard to ignore their potential meaning beyond those intended in the play.

When we reach Don Pedro's garden trick, I let myself spin out just a little bit. Benedick is a cocky son of a gun, but he wants to believe that she's in love with him because it would justify the feelings he hides for her. And then she's so snotty when she comes out to tell him that dinner is ready. I see how easy it is for him to convince himself that there are double meanings in everything she says. He wants to trust in the existence of those double meanings because he wants to finally, finally have something over her. I want to believe that Bella looks the way she does tonight because she knew I was going to be here. I want to believe that she's doing this for my benefit, to send me a message, an invitation. But her message only made me fall apart and look like a stroke victim. I decide that I don't want to look like a stroke victim, and it's time to get the upper hand before it's too late and I am past the point of ever being able to seize control of whatever's going on between us. If there's anything at all going on between us. Bar dude Emmett is right: I'm going to swagger my ass off, and hope to God that gets me somewhere. It's got to be better than what I'm doing now, at any rate. Benedick doesn't give a shit if anyone laughs at him for marrying Beatrice after he's sworn time and time again that he'd never tie the knot with anyone. I am not going to care if anyone laughs at me, either.

We take a break after Act II to stretch our legs. Bella has her head slightly turned away from me – she's talking to Hero, who is Carlisle's daughter, and the guy who is playing Claudio. I'm going to wait until there's a pause in their conversation, and then I'm going to dive right in there.

While I'm being polite and plotting my line of attack, I see Don Pedro wander over to stand right in front of Bella. He's about as tall as I am, and has a bit of a baby face. As he gets closer and I get a better look at him, I read the intent in his eyes – he's about to drop a major flirt bomb on Bella. He's going to come correct and deliver it with authority. And we can't have that at all; at least, we can't have that without a bit of a fight. Bella looks up at him to see what he wants.

"Hey – it's Bella, right? Mike," he introduces himself. Bella's smiling warmly at him. She nods and extends her hand for him to shake – that same hand that I held earlier, the hand which brought me so much calm and peace when I was struggling and at sea. That hand is MY hand. Mike's not going to get the chance to touch it more than once if I have anything to say on the subject. And I'm definitely going to have a thing or two to say on the subject.

I put my hands on my knees and stand up so that I'm facing this Mike, this interloper, this would-be usurper of all that I want and will take and have and hold and never let out of my sight if I can possibly help it.

"Hello, Mike," I say. "Edward." And I put my hand out so that he has no choice but to release Bella's and shake mine instead. Mike reluctantly lets go of Bella and grabs my hand in what I'm going to admit right here is an unnecessarily firm and clearly annoyed fashion. He's pissed, and there's a big part of me that enjoys the fact. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I really want to talk to my partner over here about the third act before we get started again. You don't mind, right?"

And without bothering to see whether Mike minds or not, because I frankly don't care either way, I look down at Bella. She looks up at me, arching an expectant eyebrow.

"Let's take a stroll around the room, shall we?" I say, and I flash her a crooked grin. Her second eyebrow joins her first in a double salute, but she stands up and without another word to old Mike, we are ambulatory.

"So," she says, as we begin our little voyage around this nondescript space. "What was it you wanted to discuss with me?" She sounds a little breathless, and that's totally turning me on, but I fight it and stay focused. She has her hands clasped behind her back, while mine are lodged firmly in the front pockets of my jeans.

I consider for a moment before I answer her. "I was just trying to save you some time, really," I say.

There goes her eyebrow again. "I'm not following you," she informs me.

"With Mike. I was trying to save you some time debating whether or not you should take Mike up on his offer of dinner or drinks or whatever it is Mike suggests to the women he's interested in."

I look up at the ceiling as I say this, because as was the case when Bella and I first met on Tuesday, I'm hoping she'll just play along.

"I see," she says, after a short pause. "And this is your business…how, exactly?" She's not breathless anymore. Is that a good sign? I don't know if that's a good sign. I press on.

"Well, it's not really my business," I confess, looking down at her. "Yet."

I am the fucking king of Swagger Mountain. Who knew?

"Hmmm…pretty arrogant of you, when you consider that it's my call to say whether it should be your business at all."

_Thank you, Bella. Thank you for playing along, you beautiful, smart woman._

"You have a point there," I agree, nodding. "But I'm pretty sure the call is going to go my way sooner or later, and again, I'm all about the saving of time."

Her eyes flash a warning at me. "You're a conceited jackass, you know that?"

I'm a swaggering jackass. I was told to be one, and so I am. I take direction really well.

"No, I'm really not, I promise you. I'm not a conceited jackass. I'm a persistent jackass, and there's a big difference."

She's trying to suppress it, but I can see the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly.

"I don't think I want to take a jackass's word for anything."

I shrug my shoulders and grin down at her. "Your funeral," I say.

"I feel pretty healthy, actually."

That makes me smile again. "I'm the doctor, so I might be in a better position to judge something like that than you are."

Banner calls us back to our seats. I let Bella walk in front of me because it's the polite thing to do, and because I'm treated to a fantastic view of her this way as well. Act III is Beatrice's turn to fall apart and fall in love with Benedick. I'm going to enjoy myself to an unholy degree in the next few minutes.

# # #


	6. How poor are they that have not patience

# # #

How poor are they that have not patience

BPOV

I walk back to the chair circle in a complete daze, hoping I sit in the right seat and not in someone's lap. I know Edward is behind me – I can feel him watching me. I'm shocked, thrilled, scared, and a teeny bit pleasantly irritated by everything that just happened during our little meander around the room. But we're in it now, and if I lose my game face it'll all be over but the crying. I need to be very strong and very smart, or I'll blow what might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. He's read the play, and knows it well.

_The first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical._

Here comes Edward, and he looks like he's ready to get Scotch jiggy with me.

As I sit down, I turn my head to look at Alice. Her eyes are so large that she looks disturbingly like a Precious Moments figurine. I can't help it – I widen my eyes at her and smile for just a moment, then reassemble my expression into one of serene indifference. Or as close to serene indifference as I'm going to get given the present circumstances.

We start on Act III, and I suddenly realize what's coming for Beatrice. Could the timing be any worse? Now I have to confess my love for Benedick and tell him I'll requite him. Did Edward plan this, or is he merely the beneficiary of the luckiest coincidence ever experienced by any community theatre actor?

Ursula and Hero are talking about how sick with love poor Benedick is for me, and what a paragon of manhood he is. It's a set-up – they're doing it to trick me into admitting that I love him. I know I should most definitely NOT look up at Edward right now, and I almost manage to listen to my good advice. I look straight ahead, and in my peripheral vision, I see that he is grinning from ear to ear. He knows what's coming, and he clearly can't wait for it. I sniff, then look back down at my book.

I try to read with as little inflection as possible, but I love these words, and some emotion creeps out anyway:

'_What fire is in mine ears?_

_Stand I condemn'd for pride, and scorn so much?_

_Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu!_

_No glory lives behind the back of such._

_And Benedick, love on; I will requite thee;_

_Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:_

_If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee_

_To bind our loves up in a holy band:_

_For others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it _

_Better than reportingly!'_

I absolutely cannot look at him. I refuse, because I'm pretty sure I know what I'd see if I did look at him. I'd see some version of "You know you want me, baby" written all over his smug face. And the worst part isn't that I suspect he set me up. The worst part isn't even that I am blushing so fiercely right now that I look like a hot plate ready for a pot of water to boil.

The worst part is that he's absolutely right, and I won't be able to tell him he needs to prove himself first for pages and pages.

Banner cast two of his regular company players as Dogberry and Verges, because they've done a lot of comedic work with him in the past. While Dogberry and Verges are being goofballs and consummate malapropists, I try to organize my thoughts a little. A very little.

_Oh, Edward. You have a kind face that wants to smile, and you whinnied at me, which was totally bizarre, and just now when we were walking around the room, I was really tempted to believe that you mean to play for me the way that Jake never would or could. I fight to believe that I'm worth playing for. I'm trying really hard to believe it, despite the fact that I don't understand what it is you see in me, you hopelessly beautiful man. Please don't be a jerk. Please God, don't be a jerk._

Hero is being slandered, and Alice is having an absolute field day with the thing. She'd better keep some of her horses in the barn – this is just a read-through. I watch Jasper say mean things about Hero. He looks guilty just saying the words. He may be a smooth criminal, but he'll never get away with shit when it comes to Alice, because he is a wide open book for her.

Ah, here comes Benedick again. I tell him to prove his love for me by killing Claudio to avenge the wrong he's done to Hero.

'_Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee,' he says._

'_Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it,' I answer._

Now I just have to look at Edward, because I can't control myself any longer. He's looking right at me, and he looks very serious. I hope to God I don't have dirt on my face or smeary mascara or something, and that the look he's giving me means he gets the message. You're a persistent jackass, yes? You're going to have to prove it, mister, because I can't afford to believe your words until you make me sure it's safe to do so. Be a jackass for me until I know you really mean business.

He nods at me, and suddenly we really are having two different conversations. It's fortunate that we both know the text so well, because some part of us needs to be on autopilot in order to accomplish this. Beatrice and Benedick are saying the words, but underneath them, Edward and I are speaking to each other as well.

'_Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably', he says._

'_Serve God, love me, and mend,' he says._

I'll try, Edward. I will really try. But it's not going to be easy for me, and that means it's not going to be easy for you.

'_Foul words is but foul wind and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed,' I say._

Prove it. Prove yourself. Prove that you are more than just words, because I've had words from someone else, and they mean nothing to me now. Words without feeling are foul to me. Prove yourself to me, and I will kiss the lips right off of your face and lick you in places you didn't even know existed.

Don John is discovered as the villain of the piece. He's carted off to jail, and Hero and Claudio are reunited. Hopefully, Claudio has learned a lesson about trust, because he sure needed one. Now Benedick and I need to come clean about what's going on with us, to the world and to each other.

'_Do not you love me?" he asks._

'_No, no more than reason,' I answer_. Why should I have to expose my heart before he does?

Claudio and Hero produce the love letters that Benedick and Beatrice have written to each other, and the game is over.

'_A miracle – here's our own hands against our hearts,' says Benedick. 'Come, I will have thee; but by this light, I take thee for pity.'_

Dork. Seriously, stop with the wisecracks, because I can't stop until you do, and I'm tired already.

'_I would not deny you,' says Beatrice. 'But by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.'_

Really, stop joking now, or I'll get mad all over again.

'_Peace; I will stop your mouth,' he laughs. _

The stage direction says, "kissing her". Edward looks at me again, and I swear, I swear, somewhere over our heads, in the space between our bodies and our chairs, we touched each other. Neither one of us moved a muscle, but we touched all the same.

"Okay, people," Banner says. "That was a terrific first read-through!" He claps for us, and we all clap for each other. "We'll start blocking on Tuesday. Spend the weekend getting comfortable with the text. Run your lines and start to own them. See you back here on Tuesday at 6."

It is at this moment that my best friend, my roommate and sister, decides to take matters into her own hands. Her own little crafty, devious hands. Behold the mischief that is Alice.

She leans over me to capture Edward's attention.

"Hey Edward – Alice," she introduces herself. "I think you work with my father at the hospital, right?"

Edward's eyebrows shoot up. "Yes," he confirms warily.

"Well," she says, "Jasper over here and I were just talking, and I was thinking that it might be a good idea to watch the film version of the play – just to get a feel for the action and rhythm, you know. Bella and I would be happy to host a little viewing party at our house on Saturday if you're interested in joining us – I wish we could invite the whole cast, but our place just isn't big enough. And, I mean, the four of us are really the principles anyway, so it makes sense, right? We could make an Italian dinner, since the play takes place in Sicily." She looks so adorable as she's saying this. I want to kill her. Plus, it means I have to cook dinner.

Cue the eyelashes, because Alice has no shame.

Edward's lips form a slow smile. "Are you being…helpful, Alice?"

Alice smiles back and nods, and Edward laughs.

"Sure, I'd love to join you. What time?"

Alice isn't even acknowledging the fact that she's leaning across my body. I'm like a speed bump to her, and about as useful in this conversation, apparently.

"Oh, we're flexible. What time are you finished up at the hospital on Saturday?"

"I think I'm done at six."

"Okay then, let's say…seven? Just to be on the safe side," Alice laughs. "I know my dad never manages to get out of there on time."

"Seven's great. Can I bring anything?"

"Wine," Alice nods fervently. "Lots of it. I have a feeling it'll come in handy," she says, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial fashion. She hands him one of her business cards, on which is printed our home address.

"Done. See you on Saturday," Edward says, taking the card and sticking into the pocket of his shirt. He turns to look at me, and the smiling eyes I was earlier speculating about are proving themselves in no small way. "See you on Saturday, Bella," he repeats, and heads for the door.

"Jesus Christ, Al," I sputter as soon as he's safely out of earshot. "Why the hell didn't you at least ASK me before you did something like that?"

Alice laughs her tinkling fairy laugh. "Oh, Bella, please. I haven't got all day to wait for you two to jump into the pool. You needed a shove, so I shoved. I shoved with love, baby. Don't hate."

She squeezes me around my shoulders to remind me that she's not actively trying to destroy my life.

Jasper stands up and stretches as we all start walking to the door. "So, what was the good doctor chatting about when the two of you were ambling around the joint?"

I furrow my brow. "He was telling me that I shouldn't waste my time thinking about going out with Mike," I answered. "I asked him what business it was of his, and he told me it wasn't his business yet, but that he was pretty certain it was going to be his business sometime in the near future. Then I called him a conceited jackass, and he corrected me by informing me that he was a persistent jackass, and that there was a difference between the two. Oh, and then I told him I didn't want to take a jackass's word for anything, and he grinned at me and told me it was my funeral."

Jasper and Alice have stopped dead in their tracks and are staring at me as though I've suddenly sprouted daisies from the top of my head.

"What?" I ask. "That's really all he said, I swear."

"Whoa," Jasper breathes. "That was…that was, damn, that was just MASTERFUL. My hat's off to him."

I rarely see Alice shocked, and when I do, it makes me very nervous. "Alice?"

She blinks and shakes her head. "Yeah."

"I knew it was bad, but what you're saying is that I'm really in trouble here, right?"

I can see that she's about to treat me like a cancer patient getting some less-than-optimistic news. "Well, he's either a pro league flirt, or he means some serious business with you," she says as she considers the situation. "And I have to say that if he's just flirting, he deserves some kind of award for that stuff, because it is absolutely all over him. You should see the way he looks at you. He's like the Hannibal Lecter of love, and he wants you with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."

My forehead wrinkles again. "I'm in _way_ over my head. I don't know what to do."

Alice pats my arm soothingly. "Don't worry, Bel – it'll be fine. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, you know."

"That'd be the problem right there, Alice. I very much want to do. Very much. But I don't think I should, and I'm afraid he's going to make it impossible for me to say no to him."

"Sounds as though you handled that little chat just fine. Get to know him, and let him get to know you. Do you want me to lock you in some kind of chastity belt for your peace of mind or something?"

I have to laugh. "No, I'm not worried about that. Much. What I really I need some kind of chastity belt for my heart, and I don't think they sell those."

Jasper interrupts. "Want us to promise not to leave the two of you alone on Saturday?"

Alice instantly objects to that idea. "No, they have to talk, Jazz. And we need to give them room to do that." She turns to me. "But I promise, I won't be far away unless you want me far away. We should have some kind of code word or something."

Alice. She does love her espionage.

"Okay, if you hear me say 'folio', you can get lost, because I have it under control."

"Done."

Of course, by Saturday afternoon I am a total wreck. I resist Alice's repeated and honestly quite obnoxious efforts to coax me into wearing something she thinks is appropriate for the occasion, and go with my own wardrobe instead. I'm wearing a plain khaki skirt and a deep blue cotton short-sleeve top with a wide boatneck. She whimpered when I told her, so I relented and let her pick out some underwear for me as a compromise, knowing that there is not a chance in hell that the underwear is coming out to play today under any circumstances whatsoever. She kits me out in the one of the most beautiful sets I have ever seen her pull like a rabbit from the magician's hat that is her lingerie dresser.

"Al, really, this is ridiculous. You're wasting this stuff on me, because I promise you nobody's going to see it."

She gives me her patented eyeroll. "That's really not the point, Bel. The point is that YOU know you're wearing it, and if you insist on dressing like one of the kids on campus, you should at least have a little reminder that you are _not_ a kid on campus, but a strong woman with a mind of her own, in charge of her own destiny. Plus, the set is from Italy, so it's working right into the theme of the evening."

"You're like a Hallmark card with scraps of silk and lace attached, you nut," I tease her.

I have to hear about the fact that my hair is in a plain ponytail, too, but I ignore her. This is me. This is who I am and what I look like. If Edward can't handle it, better I know that now as opposed to later. There is no armor on earth, no article of clothing, no scrap of lace, which can protect me from myself.

Jasper wanders through the front door at about 6:30, so laid-back that for all intents and purposes he might as well be unconscious. That stops the moment he sees Alice, of course, because his eyes light up and he gives her a smile so large I can enumerate his teeth and probably offer a pretty decent accounting of his dental history as well. "Hey little one," he says, and stoops to give her a peck on her cheek, which is apparently all he's permitted to do at this point in the evening.

I busy myself in the kitchen to give them some private time. I've got some peperoncini al tonno and dulcia domestica as appetizers, and I'm in the process of pulling together a shrimp marimonte with cavatelli when I hear the doorbell ring.

"For the honor of Greyskull," I mutter under my breath, because I am now channeling She-Ra: Princess of Power. Take a deep breath and deal, Bella.

Alice gets the door as my hands are busy – I hear her saying "hi" to Edward, followed by Jasper's super mellow greeting from what I assume is the couch in our living room.

Edward walks into the kitchen. He's holding a very large box, and of course he looks like sex on legs.

"Hi there," I say, because I am so cool like that. "What's in the box?"

"Uhm, wine?" he answers, only it comes out as a question. And I can't help it.

I am overcome with hysterical laughter. "Exactly how much wine did you bring with you tonight, Edward?"

His face breaks into the most delicious grin. "A case." And then he's laughing right along with me, and I realize that he's got some dork tendencies which will make my knees weak in the very near future.

"I see," I gasp, when I can finally speak again. "You're some kind of boy scout, you are."

Alice dances into the room to find out why we're whooping it up in here. "I think he's a master of overstatement. Look at me Edward, seriously – two glasses of anything and I'm asleep sitting up."

It's a brazen lie. Alice has a hollow leg, and I have seen her drink many burly men under many tavern tables. She keeps these kinds of secrets from people until she finds a reason to trot them out and blindside somebody.

"I think you're bluffing," he says coolly, calling her right out on that. "You did say I should bring a lot of wine. And I've recently discovered that I really do take direction very well."

"That is some salient information right there," I say. He purses his lips at me but doesn't answer. He doesn't have to, because his eyes are quite literally screaming at me, and I have to look away from them before I combust.

As is the case for cooks around the world, and despite our very comfortable living and dining rooms, everyone ends up in the kitchen, hanging out with me while I finish making dinner. Jasper and Edward are talking about where they went to school, and it seems like an easy, comfortable conversation. Jasper is like a human xanax. He's a people whisperer, that one.

We take the food into the dining room to eat. Jasper draws me in to a really rude evaluation of everyone in the English Department, so we explain the insane quirks that some of our coworkers have for the entertainment of Alice and Edward. Carla furtively saves used saran wrap for purposes unknown to us, all of Harrison's pens in the pen holder on his desk need to match each other and be pointing downward, Mindy eats a breath mint every fifteen minutes, Victoria has an improbable fascination with all things Hello Kitty, and so on. Really, they're all a mess. I think that's why Jasper and I bonded – we are the only two there who wouldn't be of much interest as subjects for a psych thesis.

Edward shares what it's like in the ER. The nurses have a drawer at the main desk that nobody is allowed to get in to. Even Carlisle doesn't have a key. What are they hiding in there? It's cause for constant speculation. Also, someone apparently likes to steal the blood pressure cuffs in the ER exam rooms, because at least one goes missing every week. Edward has nightmares about what they could potentially want with all of those cuffs. "It's so random and scary," he shivers. Alice and I reminisce about our days with Landlord Larry, and the homeless guy who parked himself on our stoop and offered running commentary on whether and how well our outfits were coordinated every day. We have a picture of us with the homeless dude on our mantelpiece, which Alice runs to share with the room.

We take our glasses of wine into the living room and start to watch the movie. Alice and Jasper are curled up on the loveseat, and while they're not making out like horny teenagers, it's pretty obvious that they are together. I can see that Edward doesn't want to make me uncomfortable, so we sit together on the larger couch, each one of us with one knee curled under us so that we can kind of face the screen and kind of face each other and keep a bit of a barrier up at the same time.

"How many times have you seen this movie?" Edward whispers about half-way through.

"I'm not a math person – I can't count that high," I whisper back.

He laughs and grabs both of our wine glasses. "Follow me." He stands up and heads back toward the kitchen.

Alice looks up at me with a question in her eyes. Whatever she could possibly be asking me I have no idea how to answer, so I shrug my shoulders, mouth the word "folio", and follow Edward.

Edward is leaning with his back against the counter near the sink, his elbows propping him up.

"Ask me anything at all. Any question at all, and I'll answer it with absolute truth. Then I get to ask you a question, and you do the same."

I think for a moment. So many options there. I go with something from left field.

"What was the name of your teacher in first grade?"

"Mrs. Ashcroft. She was way too old and cranky to teach young children, and she terrified me – I used to beg my parents not to make me go to school every morning. Okay, now you: who taught you how to drive a car?"

"My dad. He's a police chief and he wanted to make sure he drummed a healthy respect for traffic laws into my head before anyone had a chance to convince me that things like speed limits were merely suggestions for the weak-willed. What's your favorite book?"

"_Atlas Shrugged._ What's your favorite movie?"

"_The Philadelphia Story._ What was the last thing that made you cry?"

He wants to clarify this one. "You mean, cry from the heart, or something like onions?"

"Cry from the heart, idiot," I laugh.

"My grandfather passing away, two years ago. Where are you happiest?"

"In a library. How many hours of sleep do you need every night?

"To function, about five. To be well-rested, seven. Beach or mountains?"

"Mountains. Tea or coffee?"

He snorts. "Coffee. Favorite smell?"

I hesitate. He's ambushed me.

"Favorite smell, Bella?"

I can't expect to give less than I ask in something like this exercise, so I bite the bullet. "Whatever it is you smell like."

"Hmmm…," he says. There's a brief pause, which is colored by my blush. "Bella? Your question next."

"What were you thinking when you first saw me in the hospital?"

He scratches his temple with his long, lovely index finger for a moment. "Well, I remember that the noise made me look up, because you sounded a bit like a cat with its tail caught in a door," he grins. "Then, after I saw you, what I was thinking about was how unbelievably beautiful you are. Because you are, Bella. You're just beautiful. Then I realized that there was no way I could go over and help you even though I really wanted to, because I had no idea how to just be myself around you, and I only wanted to be right and normal and good for you. Then I remembered that I'm a doctor and I should have been able to shove all that aside for you, but I couldn't. And last of all, I was really, really jealous that Carlisle could just go over to you and touch your neck as though it were no big deal. Because if I had been the one touching your neck, it would have been a very big deal to me."

He's very quiet after he finishes telling me all of this, and he's looking at me to see if anything he's said is freaking me out. It isn't. It might be a little mysterious, but I'm not freaked out, because all I see when I look in his eyes is that he's telling me the truth.

As he's told me the truth, I feel the need to do something brave too. Holding his gaze, I walk over to him, take his right hand, and put it against my neck. "There," I say quietly, smiling. "This is my neck. It's not as big a deal as one might think, really. It might even disappoint you in its astonishing ordinariness."

He lifts his left arm off the counter and puts that hand on my neck as well. I can feel his thumbs gently press against the place at which my jaw meets my ear on each side, and his fingers tangle themselves in the hair at my nape, above the band that loosely holds my ponytail in place. He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine to test the waters and make sure this is all right.

I am not complaining. Does he imagine that I would complain about this? He's very beautiful, but clearly not right in the head.

The next time our lips meet, they're a little more sure of themselves. They are definitely getting along extremely well, like old friends who bump into each other on the street and are so excited about seeing each other that they abandon all their plans for the afternoon and hang out in a coffee shop instead, making each other laugh and reminiscing about the good old days. Our tongues seem similarly eager to get together and hug and caress one another.

Edward hunches his shoulders as though he is trying to get more of his body into this kiss. I find that so hot I can't restrain myself, and my hands slide their way up the tops of his arms, to his shoulders, to the back of his head, where they put on a pith helmet and begin to search for the lion I suspect is living in his hair.

The room spins, and I marvel at this man's ability to continually disorder my senses until I realize that it really did spin, because Edward has pushed himself away from the counter and turned me around, and is now in the process of lifting me up so I can sit on that counter instead. My arms come to rest over his shoulders, and his hands are now sitting at my waist. They are very polite hands. Polite, and hot. It's a difficult combination at the best of times, but I'm really torn as I wonder which side I'm on with this. Do I favor the polite hands, or the hot hands? See my problem, here? I err on the side of caution and root for the polite hands. My libido kicks me in the shin as a result.

"Oh, Bella," he sighs, and moves his lips to my neck, as if to tell it that he will never be scared to touch it again. Show that neck who's boss, dude.

"Mhmmm?" I say, just in case the "Oh Bella" was a question of some kind, and we are still playing our "alternating questions" game. I am huffing him like a mad thing. It's fabulous.

"I just really, really like you," he says, and the simple innocence of the words is more convincing to me than anything else he could have uttered.

I hesitate. I'm feeling much better about Edward, and I'm pretty sure that the over-confident thing is all an act, but I still need to protect myself as much as I'm able to. "Edward, I need to take it slow," I caution.

He lifts his head from my neck and looks into my eyes, nodding. "I know. This is…new, and different for me too. And I _really_ want to get it right. Slow is fine. Slow is perfect," he smiles.

"Hey, slow doesn't mean 'stop entirely', you know," I chastise him. "Get back to work." His face returns to my neck, where his nose nuzzles the little hollow under my left ear.

"You drive me crazy," he whispers after a little while.

"I do?" I try to keep the surprise out of my voice, but I'm sure it's pretty obvious all the same.

He laughs at that, tickling my neck with his lips and his breath. "Yes, you do. You really, truly do. You have no idea. I've never whinnied at anyone before. You do that to me."

Should I tell him he drives me crazier than crazy? I decide against it, but offer a hint instead. "Well, I'm not entirely opposed to you either, in a general way. But as I've said, I'm not sure I want to take a jackass's word for anything. Time will tell."

"I accept your challenge, even though I'm pretty sure I could just leap over all your objections in a single word," he says, breaking away from my neck again to tease me with his smiling eyes.

"See, right there is the kind of arrogant jerk behavior that I'm talking about. Trust me when I tell you that it'll take a whole lot more than one word from you before I crumble," I scoff, poking my finger in his chest.

He smiles angelically at me, then leans in until his lips brush my right ear. "Honorificabilitudinitatibus," he sighs, barely louder than a breath.

My whole body quakes at the sound, and I can't stop a soft moan from escaping my lips. He pulls his face back and gazes into my eyes, his right eyebrow cocked and his lips in a lopsided smirk.

"Bastard," I breathe, and bite my lower lip. "You bastard."

He laughs at me and wraps me tightly in his arms. His hug is like a warm blanket of flesh. I feel completely enveloped in the best possible way, but I still need to punish him a little for giving me goosebumps and making my toes and various other parts of me tingle.

"I'm totally taking Mike up on his offer of drinks or dinner for that," I threaten.

"Sounds great. I'll make reservations for three, then," he jokes, but he's a little serious too. I think he'd be tough to shake if I tried to venture out with someone else. He plans on making himself ubiquitous.

We haven't heard a word from the living room in what seems like forever. Alice and Jasper could be sleeping, or trapped under a collapsed bookcase, or having hot monkey sex for all I know. If it's the last one, I don't want to give Edward any funny ideas, so I need to make sure that the coast is clothed and clear. We creep into the living room to see what's going on.

My chaperones are fast asleep on the loveseat. Jasper's long body is sprawled out with his arms across the back of the loveseat, his back against an armrest, and his legs splayed in front of him. Alice's tiny form is curled up on his chest, with her head tucked into his right shoulder. The tv screen is the steady blue of an ending, or a beginning.

It's time for Edward to leave. I don't want him to, which means that it's definitely time for him to leave.

I walk him to the front door, where he stops to look at the mural Esme's painted for us there. "Why a waterfall?" he whispers.

"I have no idea," I whisper back. "But it's beautiful, isn't it? I told Esme that it feels as though the water is hugging me whenever I walk through the front door, and she said that she hopes this house will bring Alice and me nothing but happy hugs."

Edward wraps his arms around me as we stand in the middle of the trompe l'oeil lake. "Here's one to add to your collection, then," he whispers, kissing first my forehead, and then my lips again.

Bones melting and lust sublimation ensue. I really have to cut it short before the bastard proves his point about being able to leap over all my objections in a single word.

"Go, get out of here," I laugh. I am just thinking about the fact that I have no idea whether or not I'll see him before Tuesday's rehearsals when he tells me that he's got the late shift tomorrow and Monday so that he can get out early enough for rehearsals on Tuesday. Then he asks if he can call me tomorrow. I tell him he may, and break away from him to the table in the hall to grab a piece of paper so that I can give him my number.

"Now go home and leave me alone," I glower playfully, giving him a quick kiss to deliver the message that we've concluded our broadcasting day here.

"Goodnight, Bella. I'll call you tomorrow," he smiles, and lets himself out the front door. I can hear him whistling "Hey Nonny Nonny" all the way to his car.

# # #

A/N – Note that the word Edward uses to rock Bella's world, honorificabilitudinitatibus, is the longest word that Shakespeare ever used in any of his plays or sonnets. It appears only once, in "Love's Labour's Lost", and is spoken by Costard, who is a fool. It means "being in a state capable of receiving honors" (didn't look that up, too lazy, it's off the top of my head so it might be wrong but I'm sure it's pretty close). And I dunno about you people, but I find a man's ability to whisper long, obscure, correctly-pronounced words into my ear to be pretty damned sexy.

Reviews are like those long, obscure, correctly-pronounced words whispered in my ear. They also make me honorificabilitudinitatibus. Swear to God, they do.


	7. The marriage of true minds

A/N – And now for something completely different: this chapter is done as 100% dialogue, covering a series of phone calls between Bella and Edward over the course of two days. That's right: it's a Friday Night Special, All-Talking, Soul-Baring, All-Bardward/Bella variety show, complete with imaginary organ music and dancing orangutans! I thought it might be fun to kind of mirror the way a play unfolds in dialogue alone, and this gives the reader the opportunity to hear them as they hear each other, without benefit of the internal monologues. I'm channeling Nora Ephron, and her clothes are a little loose on me.

I own no part of Twilight whatsoever. I mean, I have copies of the books, but I bought them fair and square. Stephanie Meyer owns it all, but she'll have to pay me what I shelled out on the books if she wants them back.

**# # #**

The marriage of true minds

Sunday Morning, 7:44 AM

**Bella  
**

Hello?

**Edward**

Hi Bella.

**Bella**

Edward? Edward, what time is it?

**Edward**

It's, uh, 7:44 AM. Why?

**Bella**

Edward, it's Sunday morning here. Is it Sunday morning where you are?

**Edward**

(laughing) Yes.

**Bella**

I'm not awake yet. Why are you awake?

**Edward**

I'm going for a run.

**Bella**

'kay. Have fun with that.

**Edward**

You don't like running?

**Bella**

It's not a gift of mine, the whole coordination thing. I'm not a gazelle by any stretch of the imagination.

**Edward**

And if I were chasing you. Could you run then?

**Bella**

Depends.

**Edward**

On what?

**Bella**

On how quickly I wanted you to catch me, I suppose. I have very few options in this scenario.

**Edward**

(pause) Bella?

**Bella**

Hmmm? (yawning)

**Edward**

I'd run really, really fast. Like, I'd be The Flash.

**Bella**

Okay. That actually works out well for me, because if you're that fast, I wouldn't even bother running. What chance would I have against The Flash? It'd be totally humiliating.

**Edward**

(pause) Bella?

**Bella**

Hmmm?

**Edward**

I'm really fighting the urge to run past your house right now.

**Bella**

Don't you live in Port Angeles?

**Edward**

Yes.

**Bella**

Edward, that's like 50 miles away from here.

**Edward**

I know. It's quite a bit farther than I'd usually run.

**Bella**

(laughing) Why do you run, anyway?

**Edward**

I don't know. I think I like to run because it clears my head. I stop thinking when I run, and that's sometimes a good thing for me.

**Bella**

Well, I hope you don't stop thinking about things like oncoming traffic. Because that seems a little foolhardy, frankly.

**Edward**

(laughing)

**Bella**

Edward?

**Edward**

Mhmmm?

**Bella**

Do you wear contacts or glasses when you run?

**Edward**

My contacts, usually. Why?

**Bella**

(pause) I like you in glasses.

**Edward**

Well, they're not exactly practical for running. If they fall off or break, I won't be able to see anything, and then oncoming traffic will be only one of many, many potential hazards for me.

**Bella**

I'm just saying. I like you in glasses.

**Edward**

Noted. Duly noted. I'll donate my contacts to the blind.

**Bella**

Edward, the blind don't really have much use for contacts. You're a doctor. Shouldn't you, you know, be up on that kind of information?

**Edward**

I might have skipped a day or two in med school.

**Bella**

Remind me to speak to Carlisle about the quality of care at his hospital. You're a malpractice suit waiting to happen.

**Edward**

No, I get most of the other bits right. Most of the time. I'm a bit fuzzy on things like which bone the hip bone is connected to, but that's because I can never remember the song.

**Bella**

Are you ever going to run, or were you only planning to run your mouth this morning and let the rest of you have a bit of a lie-in?

**Edward**

I'm going. Shoes are on, keys in hand. Can I call you later, though?

**Bella**

Yes. But by later, I mean, like, after 10 AM, because I'm a fan of the whole lazy Sunday morning concept.

**Edward**

Go back to sleep then, lazybones.

**Bella**

'kay. Have a good run.

**Edward**

Talk to you later, Bella. Bye.

**Bella**

Bye, Edward.

**Edward**

I'm hanging up now.

**Bella**

Okay, so hang up.

**Edward**

I'm absolutely hanging up right now.

**Bella**

What, are you chicken or something?

**Edward**

Click.

**Bella**

(laughing) Edward, you can't just say "click". The phone waits for you to disconnect it via a button of some kind.

**Edward**

Okay, really going now. Talk to you later.

-.-.-

Sunday Afternoon, 12:16 PM

**Bella**

Hello?

**Edward**

Hey. Am I bothering you?

**Bella**

(laughing) Yes. Yes, you're bothering me. But probably not in the way that you mean.

**Edward**

(Mr. Burns voice) Excellent.

**Bella**

How was your run?

**Edward**

Really great, except for the fact that I thought of all these new questions I wanted to ask you.

**Bella**

Are we still doing the alternating questions thing?

**Edward**

If you like.

**Bella**

Okay, shoot.

**Edward**

Before we start, I'd just like to remind you that the absolute honesty rule is still in effect.

**Bella**

Gotcha. Honesty. No problem.

**Edward**

Okay, since you had a chance to ask this one last night, it's my turn. What were you thinking when you first saw me at the hospital?

**Bella**

(pause) I thought you were not the most unfortunate-looking individual I'd ever seen in my life. I liked your hands. Your hair made me wonder whether there might be a lion hiding in there.

**Edward**

Is there something wrong with my hair?

**Bella**

No. Edward, no. There is nothing wrong with your hair. There is nothing wrong with you. At all. It's a little, uh, unsettling.

**Edward**

Unsettling is a good thing, though, right?

**Bella**

Mmmmm…yes, on balance, I'd have to say that unsettling is a good thing.

**Edward**

Your turn.

**Bella**

Are you really a jackass, or is that an act for my benefit?

**Edward**

(laughing) I'm sure I can be a jackass.

**Bella**

No – what I mean is, is that who you are?

**Edward**

I'm actually pretty – I was going to say "shy", but that's not exactly right either. I got kind of used to pretending to be things that I'm not, but I'm trying very hard not to do that anymore. I live in my own head a lot, and it's difficult for me to let people in there.

**Bella**

Why, what's going on in there? Is it really messy or something? Are there gum wrappers all over the floor, or Star Wars collectibles lining the shelves? Is your head like the Delta fraternity in _Animal House?_

**Edward**

(laughing hysterically)

**Bella**

Edward, your brain is wearing a toga and doing the gator. It's got Wayfarers on and it's singing into a beer bottle. It's going on a road trip in your brother's new Cadillac. It's on double-secret probation.

**Edward**

(more laughing) I swear to God, Bella, I have never had this much fun talking to a person, ever. If I had known it was possible to enjoy a conversation this much, I'd have had more of them. Do you watch a lot of movies?

**Bella**

Well, I don't camp out at the multiplex, if that's what you mean. I watch my fair share of movies, but I'm not really crazy about a lot of those big-budget affairs where things are always blowing up. I need a plot. Plots are good.

**Edward**

You said that _The Philadelphia Story_ is your favorite movie. Why?

**Bella**

Are you kidding me? Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, and Jimmy Stewart, all in the same movie. Tracy saying, "Oh, Dexter, I'll be yar now, I promise to be yar", and Dexter saying "Be whatever you like, you're my redhead". It's the best movie ever made. Period.

**Edward**

If you had Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant fighting over you, who would you choose?

**Bella**

That's easy. Jimmy Stewart, no question.

**Edward**

Huh. Explain yourself.

**Bella**

Don't' get me wrong – Cary's a dish, and he's smart and charming and sexy and all of that. But Jimmy. Oh, Jimmy. He's just real and lovely and funny and awkward, and you know that when he tells you that he loves you, he means it with every single cell in his body. It's not a joke for Jimmy, ever, even if he's smiling when he says it.

**Edward**

He's not an especially attractive man, though, is he? I mean, not when you compare him to Cary Grant.

**Bella**

In the immortal words of Olympia Dukakis in _Moonstruck_, "What you don't know about women is a lot." Women might look at the hottie, but what they want is the real guy who'll be there when life gets ugly, be there with a hug and a promise to make it better again. The guy who listens. The guy who's willing to make atotal fool out of himself over her. The guy who isn't scared of her. If he's cute, well then, bonus.

**Edward**

This is easily the best and most educational conversation I've ever had. Thank you.

**Bella**

You're welcome. I'm a teacher, after all. I teach.

**Edward**

And I'm a doctor. I heal.

**Bella**

But you shouldn't work with the blind, Edward, because you really don't know what you're talking about there.

**Edward**

I'll study up on it. I should get ready to go to work.

**Bella**

And I've got to get ready to lounge on my couch.

**Edward**

Wow. I definitely drew the fuzzy end of this lollipop, didn't I?

**Bella**

'fraid so. Have fun, doc.

**Edward**

I'll probably call you later. I'm just warning you.

**Bella**

If I'm not busy napping, I'll answer the phone.

**Edward**

I'd like to watch you nap.

**Bella**

It's really not the action-packed spectacle you've been led to believe it might be, Edward.

**Edward**

Maybe not, but I'd sure like to see it all the same. Have a great afternoon, Bella.

**Bella**

You too, doc. Bye.

-.-.-

Sunday Evening, 8:33 PM

**Bella**

Hello?

**Edward**

Me again.

**Bella**

Hi, me. Whatcha up to?

**Edward**

I'm eating dinner.

**Bella**

Anything good?

**Edward**

A plain yogurt and a banana.

**Bella**

That's pretty depressing. Do you cook for yourself at all?

**Edward**

No, I'm hopeless in the kitchen. I microwave like a professional, though. The dinner you made yesterday was amazing.

**Bella**

Are you making with the sad eyes right now in the hope that I'll cook for you more often?

**Edward**

A little bit. But I don't ever want you to do something you don't want to do.

**Bella**

Pathetic. That was a _pathetic_ play for a home-cooked meal.

**Edward**

(laughing) Okay, here's some truth: if you were sitting across from me, this would be the best and most delicious dinner I have ever had.

**Bella**

You need to stop saying stuff like that.

**Edward**

Why?

**Bella**

Because when you do, my brain goes all empty and I forget the "take it slow" thing.

**Edward**

I really mean it, though. I do.

**Bella**

We'll see.

**Edward**

(pause) Bella?

**Bella**

Mhmmm?

**Edward**

What happened in New York?

**Bella**

What do you mean?

**Edward**

There was someone who hurt you. In New York. Can you tell me what happened?

**Bella**

(pause) I'm not sure I want to right now.

**Edward**

I don't want to force you. When you're ready, you'll tell me.

**Bella**

Okay. Sorry.

**Edward**

It's all right. Can I just say one thing, though?

**Bella**

Sure.

**Edward**

He must have been a major asshole. Major. Because I can't imagine anyone deliberately hurting you, and I kind of really want to beat him until he's bloody, which is definitely in direct conflict with the whole Hippocratic oath thing they make you swear when you become a doctor.

**Bella**

Thank you, Edward. That was really sweet, even if it was a bit violent.

**Edward**

You're welcome. Anything you want to ask me about?

**Bella**

Where do you stand on the subject of Hemingway?

**Edward**

He's a brilliant writer. Terse. Passionate. Painful.

**Bella**

Yes, yes, all of those things – but Edward, he's a misogynist, and all of his female characters are hopelessly two-dimensional. Doesn't that bother you at all?

**Edward**

Well, they serve a purpose in the stories, but the stories aren't about them.

**Bella**

But he wrote about love, and it makes me wonder whether he understood that women have this whole internal life that is entirely separate from how they look or what they're saying to a man. Hemingway just uses women as plot devices. They're not real people.

**Edward**

I never really thought about it that way, but I can see your point. Maybe Hemingway never met a woman who was more than two-dimensional. If he had met you, you would have changed his mind.

**Bella**

What makes you think I would have changed Hemingway's mind?

**Edward**

Well, you changed mine.

**Bella**

(pause) Were you in the habit of looking at women as though they only had two dimensions?

**Edward**

(pause) Yes. Yes I was.

**Bella**

I'm sorry to hear that.

**Edward**

I'm even sorrier to say it. Sorrier, and really pretty ashamed of myself.

**Bella**

Your penance is to read _She's Come Undone._

**Edward**

What's it about?

**Bella**

It's about the life journey of a 257-pound woman named Dolores. It's written by a man named Wally Lamb, and it's brilliant.

**Edward**

A man wrote this book?

**Bella**

Yes he did. That's why I'm suggesting you read it, so you can see that it's not impossible for a male author to understand a woman. Wally Lamb understands his protagonist as well as any female author could have understood her, and possibly even better.

**Edward**

I'll pick up a copy tomorrow morning.

**Bella**

Edward?

**Edward**

Yes?

**Bella**

I have never, ever wanted to kiss a man more than I want to kiss you right at this moment.

**Edward**

Jesus, Bella, you can't say things like that to me without some kind of warning. Either I have to leave the hospital now, or you have to come here.

**Bella**

I have class tomorrow morning, and you're at work. We're not going anywhere. But I just had to say it.

**Edward**

I don't think you understand what you're doing to me. How the hell am I supposed to go back to work after you say something like that?

**Bella**

Would you like to run some lines from _Much Ado_ with me? 'Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.'

**Edward**

This is cruel, Bella. 'Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.'

**Bella**

'I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.'

**Edward**

'You take pleasure then in the message?'

**Bella**

'Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well.'

**Edward**

Well, I've already eaten the yogurt and the banana, you see. And you aren't here, so it wouldn't have mattered what I was having for dinner anyway.

**Bella**

We're like those people who speak two languages and have conversations using bits and pieces of each language.

**Edward**

I'm so glad Doug didn't decide to do Ibsen. I don't know it nearly as well.

**Bella**

(laughing) Ibsen's depressing.

**Edward**

I know – I like the comedies best.

**Bella**

Well, if you're going to escape real life, you want to go somewhere sunny, no?

**Edward**

Exactly. (sighing) I should get back to work.

**Bella**

I have to prep course suggestions for the staff meeting in the morning.

**Edward**

Talk to you tomorrow, then?

**Bella**

Love to. I have the department meeting at 8:30, then classes through about 2 in afternoon.

**Edward**

And I'm at work from 1 'til 11. But I'll call you tomorrow at dinner, and you can taunt me with details of your home-cooked meal.

**Bella**

(laughing) Goodnight, Edward.

**Edward**

Goodnight, Bella. Sleep well.

-.-.-

Monday Afternoon, 2:29 PM

**B, what time are you eating dinner tonite? E.**

**7 or so. Why? B.**

**Can I call you while you eat? E.**

**LOL, like a dinner date? B.**

**Yup. I have yogurt again. E.**

**Talk at 7, then. B.**

**-.-.-  
**

Monday Evening, 7:06 PM

**Bella**

Hey!

**Edward**

Hi there.

**Bella**

How's work?

**Edward**

Do you have a weak stomach? Because if you do, I probably shouldn't tell you about it while you're eating.

**Bella**

Ugh. Keep all the info on your side of the phone call, I am not about the blood and guts at all.

**Edward**

Will do. Shame though, because we had some good ones today.

**Bella**

Shut. Up. Now.

**Edward**

Shutting up.

**Bella**

I made chicken stroganoff tonight. It's pretty yummy, really.

**Edward**

That's just mean, Bella.

**Bella**

How's your yogurt?

**Edward**

Actually, one of the nurses took pity on me and brought me some of her homemade lasagna. It's full of crimini mushrooms and spinach, and it's spectacular.

**Bella**

Which nurse was this, then?

**Edward**

Uhm, her name is Elle.

**Bella**

I see. And she's bringing you food?

**Edward**

Yes, she did indeed bring me food.

**Bella**

So she's the motherly type, is she?

**Edward**

I don't think she's old enough to be anyone's mother, Bella.

**Bella**

Ah, so she's young. A young nurse with a supermodel name who just happens to be bringing you some terrific homemade lasagna, you poor, inept-in-the-kitchen, yogurt-eating bachelor doctor, you.

**Edward**

You know, if I didn't know better, I'd suspect that you were a little bit jealous over the pity lasagna.

**Bella**

Not at all. In fact, I like this Elle, and I want to help her if I can - she shouldn't be cooking all the time. I'll invite her out on our date with Mike.

**Edward**

(laughing) Two birds. One dinner date. I like it.

**Bella**

I have a question for you.

**Edward**

Yes?

**Bella**

How did you know about New York?

**Edward**

What – that somebody in New York hurt you?

**Bella**

Yeah. I don't recall mentioning anything of the kind.

**Edward**

(pause) That's because you didn't mention it.

**Bella**

So? If I didn't mention it, how did you know about it?

**Edward**

I sort of…got the information. From Carlisle.

**Bella**

You were talking to Carlisle about me? When?

**Edward**

The day after I first saw you in the hospital, I asked Carlisle about you, because it was obvious that he knew you.

**Bella**

Edward, you did recon on me?

**Edward**

Yes. Yes. I did recon on you.

**Bella**

I'm flattered. I don't think anyone's ever done recon on me before.

**Edward**

Well, I was pretty subtle about it, actually. I made sure to include Alice in my questions. If the whole doctor thing doesn't pan out for me, I might go for a career with the CIA. Plus, I look great in black.

**Bella**

Funny. What exactly did Carlisle tell you?

**Edward**

Hmmm…he told me that you were Alice's roommate from Columbia, and that you both moved here about a month or so ago. He said that you'd gotten your Masters and were teaching at the university, and Alice was trying her hand at fashion designing.

**Bella**

What else?

**Edward**

He said that he was surprised Alice would be willing to leave New York but that she'd do anything for you, and you'd had a bad experience with a guy so you were looking for a fresh start.

**Bella**

Anything more?

**Edward**

Yes. He said that he couldn't imagine any boy not treasuring you, because you're a darling. His word, not mine. Personally, I think you can be a bit of a pain sometimes.

**Bella**

(silence)

**Edward**

Bella?

**Bella**

Yeah, I'm here.

**Edward**

I'm sorry. Did I upset you? He also mentioned that you were clumsy.

**Bella**

Great. So I'm this damaged mass of nerves with the tendency to trip over my own two feet who needs to be airlifted out of a heartbreak.

**Edward**

Is that that really how you see yourself?

**Bella**

It seems to be the general consensus.

**Edward**

You couldn't be more wrong. You just couldn't be more wrong if you tried.

**Bella**

Let's not talk about it anymore.

**Edward**

No, we're absolutely going to talk about it, and we're going to talk about it right now. Bella, why do you hear only what's gone wrong, and not what's gone right?

**Bella**

But what's gone right here, Edward? I let my friend leave her whole life in a great city and move across the country just to cheer me up. I gave up, and I gave in.

**Edward**

Here's what I learned about you in that two-minute conversation with Carlisle. You have a best friend who absolutely adores you. Her father thinks you're a darling, and whoever jerked you around is an idiot. You went to one of the most prestigious universities in the country and got an advanced degree there, which you're actually putting to good use. And here's what I already knew before I even said a word to Carlisle about you: you are beautiful, and you made me want to be good enough to know you better. This is me, telling you the absolute truth, because that's our deal.

**Bella**

Edward…stop…I don't want…

**Edward**

Tough luck. You need to hear it, and hear it often. Although I admit that there's nothing I can do to paint a pretty picture about the fact that you're clumsy. Nobody's perfect.

**Bella**

You really need to stop with the brain-emptying thing you do. It's not fair.

**Edward**

I never said I'd fight fair. Nowhere was fair fighting expressed or implied.

**Bella**

You'll stop now, though, right?

**Edward**

Yes, I'll stop. For the moment.

**Bella**

I'm changing the subject. Do you play a musical instrument?

**Edward**

Why yes, I do. The piano.

**Bella**

Figures, with those hands.

**Edward**

Thanks. I think.

**Bella**

You have beautiful hands.

**Edward**

I work very hard on them. You should have seen them before I got serious about it. Lots of cuticle damage.

**Bella**

(laughing) You're ridiculous.

**Edward**

I beg your pardon? I am no such thing.

**Bella**

No, really, you are. On virtually every conceivable level.

**Edward**

I'm a man of medicine. There is nothing ridiculous about me.

**Bella**

You brought a case of wine to a dinner for four people. You, my friend, are ridiculous.

**Edward**

But I was nervous. I didn't want to disappoint Alice.

**Bella**

Edward, I have a confession to make.

**Edward**

Go on, hit me. I can take it.

**Bella**

I really, really like you too.

**Edward**

Thank God. And I hope I dialed the right number.

**Bella**

Well, I'm answering Elle's phone tonight, so either way it appears that you're a winner.

**Edward**

Awesome. Go, me!

**Bella**

Ridiculous. Go you – back to work. What time are you getting to rehearsal tomorrow night?

**Edward**

I should be out of here by 5, which means 5:30, so I'll probably be down there by about a quarter to six. Save me a chair. Again.

**Bella**

I was NOT saving you a chair. I just forgot my bag was there.

**Edward**

Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.

**Bella**

Arrogant nitwit.

**Edward**

Get your subconscious on the line, and we'll see what it has to say about the matter.

**Bella**

Goodnight, Edward.

**Edward**

See you tomorrow, Bella.

# # #


	8. That way madness lies

**# # #**

That way madness lies

BPOV

I'm in deep, deep, trouble. Trouble deep enough for me to hang pictures on the walls of that trouble and have to think about how to arrange the furniture in there to fill up the cavernous space. My trouble is luxurious. It's a "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" kind of trouble, complete with spectacular ocean view, comfortable media room, and all-granite gourmet kitchen.

When I first saw Edward at the hospital, I can't deny that it was the way he looked which attracted my attention: he's absolutely beautiful, and my vision isn't impaired. But what I've since learned about him, about the way his mind works and his sense of humor and his intelligence and self-deprecating nature, has made his external beauty so secondary to me that I no longer find it the most troubling thing about him at all. The best parts of Edward aren't on the outside, unbelievable though that might seem. The best parts are on the inside. He's a Dunkin' Donuts chocolate Bavarian cream-filled wonderland for every sense I possess. I can't stand it.

After our dinner on Saturday, and the conversation in the kitchen, and the kissing, I knew it would be a challenge to lock away my heart and keep him at arm's distance. And I thought I had a grip on it; I honestly believed that I could just stroll into an interaction with him and keep a firm hold on the more tender, delicate, breakable parts of myself.

Then we really started talking to each other. I'm holding up about as well as a sandcastle in a Category 4 hurricane. I want to lick his mind as desperately as I want to lick the rest of him.

It's insane. It's too much, too soon. And I'm terrified.

I have to do something before I see him at rehearsal, because if I don't form a lust sublimation management plan, I can absolutely see me launching myself at him the moment he enters the room and attaching myself to him like the most persistent barnacle on earth.

Meanwhile, Alice has been spending most of her time with Jasper. They weren't home when I got the first of my three phone calls from Edward on Sunday, and I didn't see her again until Tuesday morning, as I was getting ready to head out to work.

She is sitting at the kitchen table, cradling her chin in the palm of one hand while fondling an empty coffee cup with the other. Her eyes hold the same thousand-yard stare I can feel lurking in my own. I kick the coffee maker into action, then grab a cup and sit down at the kitchen table with her.

We don't say a word while we wait for the coffee to brew.

When our cups are filled and we've got a little caffeine to support us, she looks up at me.

"Holy hell, Bel," she says. "Just holy hell."

I nod at her. "Half of me wants to hug you for dragging us across the country, and the other half of me wants to punch you in the stomach."

"You know what I think we need? I think we need to get away this weekend. Let's go somewhere, anywhere, just the two of us, and take a breather. Because what's going on here is crazy."

I nod again. "Planwise, I like it. It says 'we're too freaked out to deal right now, so we're running away like pansies'. And that pretty much sums the whole thing up right there."

"Let's go down to L.A.; there are a few stylists I met during the Bergdorf days that I want to reconnect with anyway. Can you bug out early on Friday?"

"I'll talk to Harrison when I get in today. I only have one class on Friday, and I'm pretty sure I can get Denise to cover it. She owes me."

"Call me as soon as you know – I want to get out of here as early as possible on Friday morning."

I put my hand on her arm. "So, the Jasper thing…it's…?" I don't want to finish the thought, because I'm certainly in no position to be judging anyone on the speed of romantic dementia these days.

Alice sighs. "I don't know, Bel. You know that 'Build-A-Bear Workshop' place they have at the mall, where kids can build their own teddy bears? I feel like I walked into one of those places, only it was a 'Build-A-Man Workshop', and I got to pick out everything I wanted and stuff it into the perfect guy for me. And that's Jasper. The worst part is that he's as gone about me as I am about him. I'm totally losing myself. The minute I see him, I forget everything about me and there's just a buzzing noise in my ear. It's like I know him, but I don't know him, and he knows me, but doesn't know me. You know? And it just feels completely right, but am I really ready for the big one?"

I have to hug her, because in her own semi-coherent fashion, she's just said a lot of the same things I'm thinking. "Too much. Too fast. What are we going to do?"

Alice shakes her head, and if she doesn't have an answer on a subject like this, the answer doesn't exist.

"Okay, then. You and me. Running away for the weekend, like Thelma and Louise. But I swear to God Al, if Brad Pitt wanders into this scenario on top of everything else that's going on, I will need to drive us off the cliff."

Alice drops her head onto the kitchen table and laughs the hysterical laugh of a woman on the edge. "What's going on with you and Edward?"

I hesitate. How can I put this? "Build-A-Man, Al. He's scaring the shit out of me. I want to trust him, but I've known him for – what? – a week? Does that _sound_ like the Bella you know at all? We spent the past two days on the phone. I've reached the point at which I dread hearing it ring, because if it's him on the other end, I know I'm going to be assaulted by more irresistible behavior from him," I shake my head. "And even though I know it's not fair to Edward, I keep worrying that I'm setting myself up for something so much worse than the Jake thing that there isn't a word I know to describe how bad it would be."

"Aww, Bel, I'm so sorry to hear it. That sucks," she says, as though I hadn't just hit the biggest man-lottery jackpot in the universe. But she understands. She understands better than anyone else I've ever met, and this is why she's my best friend.

"What are you going to tell Jasper about this weekend?"

"Let's think about that. We can't tell them this is any kind of planned leisure trip. And I really do need to get in touch with those stylists, because I have a ton of things to show them and I need my work to get out there and hit some eyeballs. I think it's best to say that this is a business trip for me, and you're coming along to help out as an assistant of sorts. Are you cool with that?"

"Absolutely. And I _will_ help, Al, you know I'll help in any way you need. I'll haul dress bags, I'll make phone calls, I'll set up and break down whatever, I'll fetch coffee. I'm not above doing anything – plus, I can't wait to see them gush all over everything you're doing, because I'm a fashion dolt, and even I can see how great your stuff is."

Plan formed, I feel better. I have a legitimate escape pod. "Now all we have to figure out is how we're going to make it through the next three days. We've got two rehearsals to endure. Thoughts?"

"I don't think there's any way around it, Bel. We're just going to have to let them be this great until we can get out of here and pull ourselves together. But you need to do me a favor: don't let me stay at Jazz's this week. Please. I really need to get everything in order for LA, and if I let myself stay there, I'll fall into the love worm hole and won't come back out for days."

"Done. You're not staying at his place this week. And in return, I have to ask you to not let me be alone with Edward anywhere even remotely private. It's way too dangerous."

"Done. You can do a dinner out or something, but no cozy nights in front of a roaring tv set."

We stand up and look at each other as though we're in a landing craft headed for the beach at Normandy. "Hang tough," I say. "I have to haul ass and get to school."

The day passes as usual. I spend as little time as possible in the English Department offices because I don't want to bump into Jasper until Alice has had a chance to tell him about LA. I creep in there first thing though, to ask Harrison about Friday. He's fine with it if Denise can cover, so I track her down and she agrees to do it for me. I immediately call Alice and as the words leave my mouth, she's booking our flights and hotel room.

Before I know it, it's 5:15 and I'm finishing up to head over to rehearsals.

Just thinking about seeing Edward is making me sweat. I haven't set eyes on him since Saturday night, and I feel like a kitten that's been staring at an empty dinner bowl for three days. I want to drink him in, just the sight of him, to slake the thirst that's been burning in my throat this entire time. I decide that it's critical for me to touch him as little as possible. The fact that I'm Beatrice and he's Benedick should make this easy while we're in rehearsal, because we'll be arguing most of the time.

I arrive at rehearsals a little after 5:30. Alice walks in three minutes after I do, and we sit together like two nervous children in a dentist's waiting room. She's got one leg propped up on the chair next to her to hold it for Jasper, while I've got my traitor bag on the chair next to me for Edward. We can't not hold seats for them for several reasons: in the first place, we don't want to give them the impression that they're at all unwelcome in the vicinity; and in the second place, the desire to be close to them pretty much rules out the possibility of spending our evening staring at them over the yawning gulf of the chair circle with any degree of comfort. We're weak.

The room is rapidly filling up with our cast mates. At about ten minutes before six, Jasper strolls in, and I can literally feel Alice's whole body start to vibrate next to me. It's pitiful, the state we've been reduced to, the state to which these men have brought us. Jasper eases himself into the chair next to Alice, giving her a huge smile. I feel reasonably certain that they won't leap on each other here in the presence of others, so I shift my gaze back to the door.

Edward wanders in a moment later, and I'm thankful that I will have the time it takes for him to make his way from the door to the chair circle to compose myself, because the chemical reaction is as strong as ever. His eyes find mine and I get a shy grin from him.

He sits down next to me and turns to face me. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," I answer, every inch the socially-awkward fifteen year-old, and shake my head a little. In his hands, he's holding a copy of _She's Come Undone_, which he waves at me to indicate that he has indeed purchased it as promised. How can I not kiss this man, this man who went out and bought a book just because I told him he needed to read it? That's some pretty potent heroin for me right there. I don't kiss him, but I do reach over and touch his arm because not to do so is impossible to contemplate at the moment.

"Listen, I need you to do me a favor," I say, an edge of desperation fairly evident in my voice. His raised eyebrows ask the unspoken question, 'What?'

"I really need you to be Benedick tonight – I mean, forget that it's me, and just do what you did the first night we read lines for Banner, okay?"

Edward's face is inscrutable for a moment. "Let me understand this: you're asking me to really pretend I'm Benedick instead of just being me, right?"

I sigh and nod my head at him. "Exactly. I just – I just can't say some of these things to you unless I'm Beatrice, and if I'm Beatrice, you really need to be Benedick. Okay?"

I can see that he's thinking about something, but he doesn't let me in on the secret. "I'll do my best," he says, finally. "I will really do my best, Bella."

Relieved, I smile at him, and the look in his eyes just absolutely kills me. He can never, ever know how crazy he makes me, because handing another human being that kind of power over me would be suicidal.

"How are you liking the book?" I ask, to distract myself from his lips.

"It's absolutely fascinating," he answers. "Is this really what it's like in a woman's head? How do you people walk in a straight line? How can you concentrate on anything with that kind of racket going on all the time?"

I laugh at him. "Some of us are noisier than others, but you get used to it. And you're a fine one to talk, Pinto. It's rush week in your head, and you're trying to remember all the words to 'Louie Louie'."

He laughs, then gets very serious for a moment. "Listen, Bella, I'll be Benedick tonight, I promise I will. But before we start, I'm just going to give you a quick kiss, okay?"

Again with the not understanding how he thinks I could object to that. I lean forward and our lips meet, briefly, but so sweetly that it literally makes my eyes water a little. He pulls back to look at me.

"That was me, kissing you. That was the absolute truth," he says quietly.

"And that was me, kissing you right back," I answer, smiling. "Now do me a favor and be a jerk to me for the next few hours."

Banner calls the group to order and we start blocking Act I. I'm seriously impressed that the cast has made an effort to memorize their lines. Alice is astonishing. She's always been a quick study, but I see that she seldom peeks at her book for her lines. If she and Jasper have been reading Shakespeare during breaks in their action, he might very well be the most inspired tutor on the planet.

Mike and I have an awkward moment during the early exchange between Don Pedro and Beatrice. When Don Pedro asks,

'_Will you have me, lady?'_

Beatrice and I both know the answer. No, we won't. We don't want to hurt you, Pedro Mike, but neither one of us will have you while Benedick Edward roams the earth. We'll let you down gently, with a compliment, because you've committed no crime against us.

'_No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days; your Grace is too costly to wear every day.'_

We get all the way through Act II, Scene ii before we call it a night. The blocking was very rudimentary, but it's given everyone a feel for how this is going to go. I'm exhausted, but also really excited, because this is much more fun than I expected it to be, and when I'm Beatrice, I'm not nervous at all. And we didn't reach any of the scenes in which Benedick and I interact, so all I had to do was say mean things about him while he was standing off to one side. Banner hands out contact sheets with the names and phone numbers for each cast member, in case we want to rehearse outside of the scheduled times. Then he dismisses us for the night, telling us we'll pick up where we left off on Thursday.

I walk back to our chairs to gather up my things. Edward comes over to stand next to me.

"Are you Bella now?" he asks. I turn and laugh at him.

"Yup – all me, I swear. Who are you?"

He smiles. "All Edward, all the time."

Alice and Jasper have already made it out the door, so Edward and I start to walk that way ourselves. I can sense that he wants to touch me as badly as I want to touch him; really, it's not even an option to consider anymore, but rather an imperative for both of us. He's waiting for me to let him know it's okay to touch me. I don't know if he's this amazing on purpose, or if it's some kind of lucky guess. He's got crazy Bellasense.

I wrap my arm around his waist. I can feel him exhale, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. There is a silent 'thank you' in the action. Thank you? Thank you for touching me in all my ludicrous perfection? Why, you're very welcome, you insane piece of work. Let me see your day pass from the asylum, please.

"Alice and I are going down to Los Angeles this weekend," I inform him.

"What's in LA?"

"She's got some meetings with stylists so they can see her designs, and I'm along to help her out with anything she might need."

He's thoughtful. "When do you leave?"

"I think we're headed out first thing Friday morning."

"I'm off tomorrow. Think you can sneak away for dinner or something?"

"Sure. What's on the menu – yogurt?" I joke.

"I think we can do better than yogurt. Let me call Elle and see if she can whip up something nice."

"I can't let Elle cook for me. I'm pretty sure anything I'd get would be laced with all kinds of deadly toxins."

Edward laughs. "Okay, I'll figure something out. When are you done at work?"

"I'll be out by 5 or so."

"Want me to pick you up straight from campus, or would you rather go home first?"

"Straight from campus works for me."

We agree to meet on the quad between 5 and 5:15. We're standing in front of my car now, and despite my earlier stricture upon myself to keep the physical contact between us to a minimum, I find I'm totally incapable of listening to that good advice.

"I owe you a kiss for _She's Come Undone_," I whisper, and reach up to make good on that debt. The moment my lips touch his, it's as though an electrical circuit's been completed and the current starts to flow freely between us. All the nerves in my body are trained only on those points at which he and I are touching. My brain starts to empty again and all I can think is

_so good_

_so good_

_good_

'_I am gone, though I am here.'_

As though filtered through the heavenly fog his infinitely huffable scent creates around me, I hear a faint noise behind us, a coughing, and while I don't want to wake up and leave the dream I'm in, something tells me it's necessary to do so. I look away from Edward toward the direction of the sound, and see Banner standing behind me. Edward's arms immediately release me, and it's the rough equivalent of someone flushing the toilet when you're in the shower – I'm suddenly cold and unhappy.

"Sorry, so sorry, guys," he apologizes. "My car's right here and I didn't see a graceful way out of the situation."

He steps delicately around us to get to the driver's side of his car, opens it, and shoves his backpack onto the passenger seat.

"Uh, good to see you two are working out the shyness thing," he murmurs, clearly not knowing what else to say in what is oddly a more awkward moment for him than it is for me, and slips quickly into his car.

Saved by the Banner, though. I step back from Edward and smile up at him. "I should get going anyway – unlike some people I know, I've got work tomorrow."

He grins back at me. "Go, then. I'll see you on the quad tomorrow around 5. I'm thinking we could maybe try the Korean barbeque place across from town hall. Have you ever had Korean barbeque?"

"I don't think so," I answer. "But I love Asian food, and as long as they're not serving me super-freaky items like fish eyeballs or chilled monkey brains, I'm sure it'll be great."

"You can give me all the freaky fish eyeballs – they're my favorite. See you tomorrow." He gives my arm a gentle squeeze and I get into my car to head home.

Alice. Shit.

I grab my cell phone from my bag and hit the speed dial. It rings three times before she picks up.

"Alice?"

"Yes?" Comes the dreamy reply. Crap. Defcon 1.

"Alice, step away from the Jasper and get your ass home. I mean it," I growl.

"Okay, I'm leaving in ten minutes," she murmurs.

"No. NOW," I bark in her ear. "Wake up, Alice. Get in your car and come home this minute. Don't make me go all Hondo on you."

Grumbling, Alice says a quick goodnight to Jasper. I make her stay on the phone with me until I hear her slam the door of her Porsche and start the engine, then I let her go.

The next afternoon, as I'm making my way across campus to the quad, I'm honestly split down the middle about spending the evening alone with Edward. The more time we spend together, the more I find to enjoy about him. It's like unwrapping the "big" birthday gift – the one which cost the most or is the thing you wished for the hardest – every single day, and every day that gift is new and better and more fantastic than the gift the day before had been.

But I'm also painfully aware that we've known each other for such a short time, and it's foolish of me to be so emotionally invested in a man who may not be all that he seems. How can I not be a little suspicious of his motives? Why would someone this terrific be so interested in me? Objectively, I realize that I'm not a troll and that I certainly possess admirable qualities. But the sum of my parts is quite clearly inferior to the sum of his parts. It's like the most glorious tropical bird wanting to nest with a garden-variety sparrow. On some level, it defies nature.

The point is driven ever more forcefully home when I spot him waiting for me on the quad. From my vantage point, I can see how the head of every single female twists as though it's on a gyroscope when they near him. He attracts attention and admiration and is completely unaware of the impact he's having. I have to smile when I look at how clueless he is – he's sitting on a bench just off the main path, one leg casually crossed on the knee of the other, and he's reading the book. He's wearing black jeans and a dark blue button-down with a white t-shirt underneath, and he's got his glasses on. He's completely, utterly hot, and apparently, he has no idea that this is the case. How is that possible?

Sighing, I approach him and he looks up as I get within a few feet of where he's sitting. His eyes light up and the biggest grin invades and conquers his previously serious expression.

"Hey Teach," he says, marking his place in the book and closing it as he stands. "Frighten all the kids today or what?"

"See that? _You_ understand I can be scary, but nobody else seems to get that about me," I grin. "Jasper thinks I'm as fluffy as a Persian cat. Do me a favor and set him straight."

"I'm terrified of you. Truly. You could totally take me in a fight," he shivers. "Of course, I might also deliberately let you win just to wrestle with you a little, but that doesn't mean you're not very, very scary."

"You're wearing your glasses," I note.

"Had to. I tried to hack it solo after tossing away all my contacts, but it became clear that some kind of reliable vision was necessary to do things like, you know, tie shoes, and save lives, and whatnot," he laughs.

I really shouldn't tell him what those glasses do to me, but I can't help myself. "Those glasses make me feel a little crazy, Edward."

His eyes go from benign amusement to raging bull in the time it takes for me to say those words. "Bella, keep your hands out of the matchbox if you don't want me to cause an incident right here on the quad," he warns quietly, looking down at me.

We stare at each other for a moment. I can actually hear the debate my muscles are having with my brain. I think Edward's muscles and brain are engaged in a similar conflict.

The sound of several girls shrieking in laughter near the Student Union center breaks the spell we're under. Taking a deep breath, Edward offers me his hand. "Come on – let's go eat some Korean fish eyeballs."

We walk over to the restaurant. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before: the tables are wide, and each one has a small barbeque pit in the center. The menu is written in English, but none of the dishes are familiar to me. I ask Edward whether he's ever eaten this sort of meal before – he shakes his head and tells me that one of the doctors at the hospital recommended the place after he and his wife ate here a few weeks ago.

We share bi bim bap to start, and then each choose a different barbeque dish – he opts for the kalbi, while I try the shrimp. The waitress returns with an enormous tray of tiny dishes, all of which she sets on our table in a confusing array. She opens up the barbeque pit and lights the fire. Edward and I each grab a pair of chopsticks and start sampling from the dishes on the table. I laugh when I spot some whole, small, salted fish in one bowl – Edward tries one and so do I. We each have a bite of kimchee, and it's so spicy that we down our water glasses in one shot and have to ask the waitress for an immediate refill.

As we're waiting for our orders to arrive, Edward starts in with the alternating questions again. We're talking about normal things for a change: what our families are like, where we went to school, who our friends are, places we've seen. He is an only child, like me, and I learn that his father, Edward Sr., is also a doctor. ("Can I call you Junior?" I ask. "Not if you want me to answer you," he smirks). His mother Elizabeth is an architect who specializes in reimagining old houses to suit modern lifestyles, incorporating elements of the classic with today's need for larger spaces. They keep a lower mezzanine box for the Chicago Lyric Opera season, and they have a chalet in Aspen because Edward's father is a nut about skiing. Elizabeth's family is from Hampshire, and as a result he spent a portion of every summer in England visiting relatives when he was young.

I tell him about Charlie and Renee, and our home in Phoenix. Our vacations were more the "station wagon on a road to nowhere" variety. Charlie has a thing about visiting true American oddities, so I was dragged to bear witness to the world's largest ball of string, and to the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, where you get to stare at ten old graffiti-covered Cadillacs half-buried in the ground. Edward thinks this is hysterical and instantly vows to make the pilgrimage before he dies.

Our dishes arrive. The waitress shows us how to place the marinated meat on the open barbeque with a set of tongs, and how to wrap the cooked meat into a large lettuce leaf with rice and condiments before we eat it. We cook our own dinner in front of us, sharing the beef and shrimp so that we get a chance to sample each.

As I'm turning some of my shrimp on the barbeque, the tongs slip out of my hand and my index finger lands directly on the barbeque grill. Yelping at the contact, I pull my hand back quickly. Edward jumps up from his seat across the table and comes to sit next to me, examining the burn to determine whether or not it's serious. It's only a tiny red mark, but it stings. He takes my hand and pushes my finger into my water glass for a few moments, then pulls it back and wraps it in a clean napkin. He asks the waitress for a few pieces of ice.

"Are you okay? It's not a very bad burn, but I know it probably hurts a little," he says, furrowing his brow. Watching him in doctor mode is suddenly a massive turn-on, and I take advantage of the fact that he's sitting next to me by leaning forward to kiss him. His lips taste of ssamjang paste and marinade, and he is infinitely more delicious than the fantastic meal we're having. I momentarily forget that we are in public and reach my good hand up to cradle his cheek in my palm. He is a meal I would not share with anyone. I want every last morsel. I am Edward's Clean Plate Club.

He breaks away from me, laughing, his eyes sparkling with amusement and pleasure. "I know your evil plan. You want to distract me so you can steal all those salty little fish for yourself. No deal." He stays on my side of the table for the rest of the meal. We fight over the tongs to turn the meat, because he says he doesn't want to spend the evening in the burn ward.

After dinner, we walk back to campus and stroll around the sculpture garden outside the library. It's a warm August evening, but there's a slight breeze to cool things down to a comfortable temperature. Edward takes my uninjured hand in his as we walk around, and we talk about his favorite movies. He's passionate on the subject of film, and his tastes are far-reaching. He's a big fan of Hitchcock, but also loves Billy Wilder, and Steven Soderbergh, and George Cuckor, and Howard Hawks, and Martin Scorsese. I tell him about the time I literally crashed into Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci as they were exiting a restaurant in midtown Manhattan. His eyes glaze over with excitement and jealousy, and I laugh at him.

His favorite movie to watch when he's sick is "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum", because the song that Miles Gloriosus sings when he's coming to claim the bride cracks him up, and the whole thing is just so relentlessly silly with Zero Mostel and Buster Keaton and Phil Silvers. I tell him that Miles Gloriosus is actually an ancient Roman comedy written by Plautus about a bragging soldier, and we joke about how Larry Gelbart stole his material for the screenplay from a dead Roman guy.

I don't ever want this date to end. I want to keep walking around this sculpture garden with Edward until we're no longer able to walk, and then I want someone to bring us wheelchairs so we can wheel our way around here. But it's getting late.

"I have to be on my way," I sigh. "Work tomorrow."

He nods. "I'm on the early shift."

We make our way back to my car in the faculty parking lot. I locate my keys in my bag and turn to face him, and it's that look again, that bone-melting look that makes every hair on my body stand on end. He slides his hand up the side of my neck and pulls my face close to his for a kiss. This kiss starts off slow, but rapidly gains momentum and purpose as he presses his body against mine. My hands find their way to his shoulder blades, grasping the fabric which covers them, and I pull him closer still. I'm pushed back against the door of my car, and I can feel every inch of him on me, his hard chest, his thighs, proof of his excitement in the generous erection now pressing into my stomach, making me ache with emptiness and need and heat. His arms. The smell of him. The sound of his breathing. A lock of his hair brushing up against my forehead. I'm lost in him, completely lost, and I don't ever want to find myself again, because this is warm, wet, sweet, hot heaven. The pleasure of his weight. The agony of my wait.

I sigh into his mouth, a sigh full of longing and passion and fear. His lips move to my neck, and he gently kisses and licks up and down the column of skin between my ear and my collarbone, making me shiver and gasp. He groans in response, pulling me impossibly closer to him, teeth exposed against my soft flesh, not biting, simply there. Pressed together, we begin to move in an unconscious rhythm, rubbing, finding friction against thigh, against abdomen, against any part of each other to which we have access. It is as tortuous as trying to scratch an itch under a cast. Delicious frustration.

"I'm scared of you, Edward," I whisper, because we tell each other the absolute truth. "I'm just so scared of you." It's an admission, and a broken question. Tell me it's safe to trust you.

"Don't be scared," he whispers back into my neck, voice low and slightly rough. "Don't be scared of me, Bella. I won't hurt you, I promise." Is this a truth too? Is this a truth I can trust?

"Too much – too soon," I whisper again, struggling to remember what it is that frightens me and finding only scattered fragments of thought where there were once entire treatises on the subject.

"I'm waiting. I'm here," he answers, hot breath scorching my throat, making me thirsty, pulling me under.

Oh, God.

"Edward – Edward, I have to…" Jesus. I can't form a sentence. I have thousands of words, and I can't form a simple sentence. I'm in so much trouble. Trouble deep, and trouble wide.

Edward stills, breathing hard, and moves his lips to the top of my head, because he knows what I'm trying to say. "I know," he says, like an echo of the thought I just had. "I know. You have to go." Holding me tighter still as if to argue with the words he's just spoken.

I nod against his chest. "I know. I have to go," I say. I need to borrow his words, because I'm bereft of my own.

I can feel him smile into my hair. "Bella." A deep breath. And then another, to calm, to restore, to rejoin.

"Mhmm," I ask, still without words.

"No, that was all I needed to say. Just 'Bella'," he smiles again. Drawing a final deep breath, he slowly loosens his hold on me. "Come on."

He gently pulls me away from the side of the car so that he can open the door for me. I get into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition. "Seatbelt," he softly reminds me, and closes the door.

I roll down the window. "I had a great time." This is such an outrageous understatement, but I'm still not certain how to frame what he does to me with better words.

"I had a great time too. See you tomorrow, Teach," he smiles.

"Later, Doc," I answer, returning the smile. He puts his hand up to wave as I pull out of the spot and point the car toward Forks.

# # #


	9. Flights of Angeles

**# # #**

Flights of Angeles

DATELINE, SEA-TAC AIRPORT – Friday, 6:45 AM

Alice and I are sitting in the stupendously uncomfortable chairs near Gate 14, waiting for the boarding call. We're dog-tired and decaffeinated, but we split a Red Bull and a banana about ten minutes ago, and I'm hopeful that the combination will lift the fog from my brain.

I see Alice sneaking furtive glances at the cell phone in her hand. She's petting and stroking the thing as though it were some kind of pretty little puppy.

"No, Al," I tell her firmly. "No." Bad Alice. Sit. If I had a rolled-up newspaper in my hand, I'd swat her on the nose with it. I'm training Alice the Woodhouse way.

She lifts her tired eyes to mine and sighs. "But I just want to say 'goodbye'," she wheedles. "Just one teensy little 'goodbye'?"

I shake my head at her. "You said 'goodbye' for at least an hour last night after rehearsal. That needs to hold you for a little while."

She sighs again. "I just miss him, you know? I miss him already. Shit, this is difficult."

I nod in agreement. What I don't tell her is that the only thing keeping me from launching myself out of this painful chair, hailing a taxi, and hot-footing it back to Port Angeles to bang on Edward's door is the need to make sure she doesn't pull a similar stunt with Jasper. She is my life preserver, and I'm hers. And this boat – this boat is sinking, friends. It's totally deck-chair-rearranging time on the RMS Titanic of Love.

"Turn off the phone, Al. Just turn it off."

We're finally boarding. We scramble to our coach seats and stow our bags in the overhead bin, ignore the safety lecture, and taxi down the runway to takeoff. I'm still tired despite the Red Bull, and I can't wait for the stewardess to bring me some terrible coffee.

Alice gives up on the wait for caffeine, and the moment we've leveled off at 30,000 feet, she is out like a light with her cell phone still clutched in her hand. I'm alone with my thoughts.

I'm sure Edward's got flaws. Somewhere in there, I will discover things about him which will make me angry, or sad, or disappointed. He's not perfect, because there is no such thing. I wonder what those flaws will be. Will he be withdrawn and distant in an argument? Will he be obstinate and pig-headed about an opinion even when offered evidence that he's wrong about something? Will he be jealous and possessive and unwilling to let me live a life concurrent to his as opposed to identical to his? Is he selfish and moody when something is on his mind? Does he watch a lot of golf or bass fishing on t.v.?

None of these things sound like the Edward I'm getting to know. He's shown me nothing but warmth, and good humor, and generosity. He's gentle, but not weak. He's patient, but not a doormat. He's opinionated, but not insufferable. He's hilarious, but not a clown. He's intelligent, but not elitist. And he's never once mentioned either golf or bass fishing.

The stewardess interrupts my train of thought. "Beverage?" They're down to one word these days in economy. It's pretty sad. Next thing you know, we'll just be huddled on the floor, hugging our knees and sitting on their precious safety cards. The bastards in Business Class will have all the nuts and pretzel mix.

"Coffee, please," I answer, taking a risk with two words, and grabbing the Styrofoam cup she hands me as though I were holding a sacred chalice. The coffee tastes like battery acid, but it's hot and strong and it'll do for the moment.

Why am I hesitating? I've never met anyone like him; I can't imagine that I'd get this lucky twice in a lifetime. And can I not just admit already that maybe I actually _deserve_ someone this wonderful? I put good karma out there, and would never intentionally hurt someone if I could possibly avoid doing so. I've studied hard, and worked hard. I try to be a good friend, and a good daughter, and a good teacher, and a good colleague. Instead of asking 'why me?' all the time, maybe I should just be asking 'why NOT me?' and give myself a little credit.

But Christ, I don't know if I could live through what it would do to me if the Edward thing goes wrong. Jake destroyed my self-confidence and made me doubt my worthiness as a woman. If Edward walked away, even now, even before we're truly in the middle of whatever it is that's between us, I wouldn't know how to recover. No words for that one. I miss him just thinking about that.

DATELINE, PORT ANGELES – Friday, 9:18 AM

I'd work a double shift today if I thought Carlisle would let me get away with it. He doesn't like double shifts because ER doctors burn out pretty quickly, so he tries to make sure that we spend no more than twelve hours at a time dealing with the misery that comes through the doors here every day. He prefers ten-hour shifts, which I think is unheard of elsewhere. It's usually nice to have that much time to wind down and relax, but today, the last thing I want is spare time of any kind.

I'm suturing a pretty long and nasty cut from a kitchen knife, but that's only what my hands are doing. My brain is all about Bella. The way she feels against me when I'm holding her. How much fun it is to make her laugh. Hearing her sigh after I kiss her. Listening to her get worked up about literature. Telling her about movies. It's so easy to talk to her – it feels almost as though I'm talking to myself, except I'm usually not fighting the urge to jump on me and tear my clothes off when I'm in a conversation with me, because I don't find me nearly as attractive as I find her. Also, she's funnier than I am, and probably smarter too. I like the fact that I have to work to keep up with her. I love being able to make her lose her cool – I don't think that one's ever gonna get old for me.

I feel really great about the "absolute truth" part of our relationship. Everything I tell her is true, is from me and me alone, without any input from a scriptwriter or an actor. Well, everything except for the fact that she asked me to be Benedick while we're rehearsing. I couldn't believe it when she came out with that – for a second there, I thought I might have told her about what Chicago was like, and why I needed to keep things so separate in my head. I keep them separate in rehearsal, too. I try to kiss her before we start, because that's the last time she's going to see me until after rehearsal is over, and I don't want her to think that anything coming out of my mouth between that point and the end is an absolute truth. It might be someone's truth, but it's not mine. It's kind of dangerous to do this, I think. I haven't told her about Chicago. I know I need to. I'm scared shitless about what she'll think. I'm such a dick.

"Last one. We're done here, Mrs. Kaiser," I tell my patient. "I hope it wasn't too bad. Keep the wound clean and don't pick at the stitches; we'll have those out for you in a few days. If you see any oozing, call your doctor and have him check it out, or come back here and we'll take a look. Rachel," I call for the nurse, who is never where she's supposed to be, this one.

She saunters over to me as though Mrs. Kaiser and I have all day to wait for her, which we don't. "Rachel, can you hand me the gauze and some tape, please?" I bandage Mrs. Kaiser's arm, then tell her to keep the bandage on for 24 hours. Afterwards, she should wash it with hydrogen peroxide twice a day and keep it coated with Bacitracin or Polysporin – dealer's choice – and rebandage it with large gauze pads. We'll take the stitches out in about a week, unless she wants her doctor to do it for her.

I know Bella needs to take things slow. I mean, I know that – my head gets that she needs time to trust me, and let's face it, I need time to prove that I can be trustworthy. I feel like a real boy around her. I hope I am one. I try not to analyze it – I just go with whatever I'm thinking or feeling, and hope like hell it's enough to please her.

But even though I know that there's a very good reason to take things slowly, every time I'm with her, my heart and my body are jumping ten steps in front of where we are. In my heart, she lives with me in my house, and I get to wake up every morning next to her. I get to kiss the sleep out of her eyes and then roll myself on top of her and give her something to put a smile on her face for the rest of the day when she's teaching her classes. In my heart, she makes waffles for breakfast, because they're my favorite and the only kind of waffles I've had for ages and ages are the frozen ones that taste like cardboard. I'll bet Bella's waffles are delicious. If she makes them. She probably does, because everything else about her is perfect, so I'm sure the waffle-making thing is in there somewhere. I'm going to buy a waffle iron tomorrow, because I want to believe it'll come in handy soon.

She can go through every book I own and ask me anything at all about them and my reaction to them. I'll open any closet, any drawer, any part of myself to her. I never realized I was lonely until I met Bella.

If I ever find the douche who broke her heart in New York, that guy's going to pay for it with compound interest, because I'm paying for it now, and it's pissing me off big time.

DATELINE, LOS ANGELES – Friday, 2:39 PM

"God, that was AWESOME!" Alice is excited. We've just spent two hours showing two of the stylists Alice called everything we brought with us, and they got into a bit of a pissing match over the stuff. I think Alice probably planned to have both of them see it together, because she wanted them each to know that nothing was exclusive unless someone committed.

I'm laughing because Alice is so cranked up that she's hopping from one foot to the other. She looks like a demented leprechaun.

"Let's do lunch, baby," I say, and I put on my huge sunglasses. It's LA, and that's the law. We take the elevator down to the lobby and bust out of the Sunset Tower Hotel onto the Strip, then walk over to Carney's for a hot dog, because we're goofballs. I know Alice worked her lashes on the concierge when we arrived, and we have reservations at Koi tonight, so the hot dog is not going to be the beginning and end of our culinary adventures while we're here.

We're sitting at one of the tables in Carney's, staring out the window, when Alice can contain herself no longer. She whips out her cell phone and speed dials Jasper. I'm not going to stop her; it's been seventeen hours, which is an earth-shattering record for her. While she's jabbering and cooing at Jasper, I let my mind wander again.

I was shaking the entire time as I drove home from our date on Wednesday, shaking like a drug addict in withdrawal. And it wasn't just that kiss there at the end, although holy fuck, what that did to every single synapse in my body was both unprecedented and alarming. The whole evening, from the moment I met him in the quad until the time I pulled out of the parking lot, was so much more than I thought any few hours could bring me, ever. More laughter. More lust. More intimacy. More communication. More. And more. And then even more.

I gave myself a stern talking-to before Thursday's rehearsal. Alice couldn't wait for Jasper to enter the building, so she paced around out front in order to pounce on him, but I sat quietly in my chair until Edward arrived. He sat down next to me and gave me a kiss on my right temple.

"Hi," he smiled, but his eyes were really saying, "I've missed you."

"I missed you too." I answered his eyes instead of whatever came out of his mouth. He laughed.

"Hey, Dolores is losing weight," he said. "I'm really happy for her, even though she's in a mental institution. I also kind of want to kick Kippy's ass for her, not to mention what I want to do to Jack Speight." He's talking to me about _She's Come Undone_. "Dolores isn't always very nice, though, is she. I want to cheer her on, but sometimes I just want her to grow up."

"I know – she's certainly no saint. And the suicide thing with the whale was a burnt-to-cinders metaphor, but you have to give Lamb credit for creating a protagonist who is pretty complicated and flawed – and female."

"That poor girl," he shook his head. "Thank God for Geneva. Also, I'm totally jealous of her skill with an Etch-A-Sketch."

Then I had to kiss him just a little. So I did. And I reminded him that he needed to be Benedick again during rehearsal, because I definitely can't be mean to him if he's Edward, and I also can't tell him I love him if he's Edward. I don't think I can. I don't think I should.

After rehearsal, he walked me out to my car again. He had my hand in his, and was checking to make sure that the burn from our dinner was healing.

"I feel the onset of gangrene," I said solemnly, mournfully. "Will you do the honors and lop my finger off for me? It would be a mercy, really. Might as well take the finger next to it too, just in case."

He frowned and put my hand on his chest.

"I don't think I want anything to happen to this hand," he said softly. Then he grabbed my other hand and put it next to the first, holding both hands there. "And I don't think I want anything to happen to this hand, either." I rubbed my thumbs slowly against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, then moved them up, over his collarbones and to the back of his neck, where they combed the hair they found there, craving order, and some sense. Out of anything, really, but the hair is a place to start. He wrapped his arms around me and leaned down to put his mouth on mine.

There are a whole host of things I like about kissing Edward. Seriously, a list. His lips are warm and soft, and they're moist but not sloppy. He knows just how much pressure to start with, and when to put his foot on the accelerator. He's firm but not pushy with his tongue, and he takes his time. It's not a means to an end with him, but something to be enjoyed in and of itself. He tastes as good as he smells. His kisses are huffable cream-filled donuts of perfection. And if just kissing him is this good, I shudder to think what it will be like for me when our dates become ' clothing optional'. If they become 'clothing optional'. I can't think about it or my head will explode, and I'm pretty sure that'll put the rest of the diners here at Carney's off their feed.

I motion to Alice that she should wrap up her phone call with Jasper. If I don't do this, she will talk until the battery runs out, and then beg me for my phone to continue the conversation.

DATELINE, PORT ANGELES – Friday, 7:17 PM

I'm bored out of my skull. I couldn't face going home to stare at my walls tonight, so I did something completely new for me: I called the one person I'm pretty sure is feeling about the same as I am. I called Jasper – I got his number from the contact sheet Banner handed out earlier this week.

"Hello?" Jasper sounds sleepy, but I think that's just his thing.

"Hi Jasper, it's Edward."

"Hey there, Edward – how's it goin'?

"You know. Boring. You busy?"

Jasper laughs, but there is no actual mirth involved. "Not busy enough. What's the plan?"

This stumps me – I don't go out a lot, and I have no idea what the hell people do in this town on a Friday night.

"Uh, there's a pretty decent bar across from the hospital. Cavanaugh's. Wanna just hang out and have a beer or something?"

We agree to meet up at the bar, and I make my way across the street to wait for him. The bar is pretty lively tonight, but I manage to snag a stool at the far end near the speed bar for the waitstaff. I'm sitting there for less than five minutes before a girl parks herself next to me and starts getting all leany. She smells like a fruit salad, and I'm guessing that's on purpose. Bella smells clean, and sweet, like a fragrant flower, but not artificial at all. After our date on Wednesday, I could smell her on my shirt as I drove home, and once again, my boner was my pilot. That thing should look into getting its own license.

"Hello there," Carmen Miranda purrs, slinging her arm across my shoulders.

"Hello," I say, and think about how to extract myself from the fruity nuisance that is Carmen without having to hurt her feelings.

"You're gorgeous," Carmen murmurs into my ear. I hear this from women every now and then. It's disturbing, and it makes me more than a little uncomfortable. All of the single nurses at the hospital have done their best to trip me as I walk down the hallways. I don't really like being stared at, because when people look at you, sooner or later most of them expect you to start talking about yourself to fill them in on who you are and all that. I don't want to tell anyone but Bella who I am; everyone else will just have to keep right on wondering about it. I know that being reasonably good-looking is what got me into trouble in Chicago; I'm pretty sure that very few of those women would have gone along with me if I had looked like Bob Hoskins. No offense, Bob.

"Thank you very much," I tell Carmen politely. "I'm actually waiting for someone." She doesn't need to know I'm waiting for Jasper.

Carmen pouts and moves down to the other end of the bar. Jasper walks in not one minute later – he spots me, nods, and heads over to grab a stool next to mine.

One of the great things about hanging out with guys is that you really don't have to say much. Jasper is no exception to the rule – he and I communicate largely via a serious of monosyllables and head shakes. There's some bloody comfort in that, I can tell you. He sees I've got my three fingers of whiskey and my Rolling Rock, so he orders the same and we hunch our shoulders over the bar, drinking and thinking.

Suddenly ,Carmen the fruit fly is back, and she's brought one of her friends along. The friend stands next to Jasper, and Carmen resumes her leany ways on my side. I might have to run out and buy that electric bug zapper shaped like a tennis racket if she doesn't get the hint soon.

"What are you guys up to, all by yourselves here on a Friday night?" Carmen flirts. Jasper and I look at each other, trying to figure out how to clear the zone. Eric was awesome at zone clearage, because he had no compunction whatsoever about hurting a girl's feelings – he'd pretty much just tell 'em to scram. It's obvious that Jasper and I have no skill in this particular area, so we're going to have to wing it. I incline my head in Jasper's direction and offer to let him take a swing, because I've already tried to dislodge Carmen and I'm apparently too subtle for her taste.

Jasper takes a deep breath, "Evening, ladies. Say, I sure hope you don't mind, but my buddy over here and I kinda need to talk about something important. Important, and private, if you catch my meaning." And he winks for emphasis.

He's totally making us sound Brokeback, but I don't care, because I never sought Carmen's good opinion, and if I must be linked to a man in a romantic misunderstanding, I could do a whole lot worse than Jasper.

Carmen is majestically clueless. "Awwww, come on, you guys! It's Friday night – you need to loosen up a bit and have some fuuuun. How 'bout you buy us a drink and we take your mind off what's worrying you?"

The fruit essence is killing me. I feel as though I'm being buried alive in the produce section of the Safeway around the corner from my house.

The bar is pretty crowded now, and Jasper and I are trapped. Someone gently nudges Carmen's accomplice further into Jasper's side in an effort to reach the bar and order a drink. I look up, and see a face I know.

"Emmett!" I yell, figuring he's intimidating enough to maybe chase off our troubles here.

Emmett swings his head in my direction and raises his eyebrows for a moment before he connects the dots. "Edward, right? Hey, man!" He looks down at Carmen and Company with a question in his eyes. I don't want to shake my head and be totally obnoxious, but my eyes move from side to side in a virtual head shake. The slick bastard understands immediately, having Eric-like intuition about these things, and offers Jasper and myself an escape route.

"I was just gonna go grab a table and wait for some friends. Wanna join us?" He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

I'm so happy I could cry. We agree to the plan with enthusiasm, excusing ourselves from the Fruit Sisters and following Emmett to a table, where we sit down.

"Emmett, this Jasper," I make the introduction. They shake hands.

"So," Emmett says. He looks at me, then looks at Jasper. "Misery brought company tonight, did it? What's going on?"

I sigh. "Still crazy about the same girl," I answer. "I did the jackass swagger thing you suggested, and it worked. We're kinda seeing each other now, but she wants to take it slow because some asshole hurt her a while back and she's scared to get into anything heavy. I'm finding it hard not to leap all over her, though."

Emmett nods, then turns to Jasper. "And what's your story now, new guy?"

Jasper bows his head. "I'm crazy about someone, too – Edward's girl's best friend. We pretty much attacked each other within twenty-four hours of meeting, and have been having the most mind-blowing, life-altering sex ever since. I want to lock her in my apartment and never let her see daylight again – she's that good. And she's a total sweetheart. Best thing that's ever happened to me by a long shot – I mean, she hypnotizes me. But I don't know. I think she's freaking out because we went from zero to sixty in four seconds flat."

"Mmmhmmm," Emmett says, nodding again. "And where are the girls tonight? Did they barricade themselves into a hotel room to get away from you two clowns?"

I shake my head. "No, they're out of town for the weekend on business. We won't see them again until Monday at the earliest."

Emmett's head moves from side to side. "Guys, guys, guys," he laments. "What the hell are you thinking? I mean, if these are girls you want in the picture for the long term, you kinda gotta go a little easy with them. Of course they're gonna freak if you run up on them like dudes who've been living on a submarine for two years. Chill out. Unless all you want is some boot-knockin', in which case, go to town. Or better yet, grab those two girls at the bar and do whatever, 'cause they're clearly up for it and they're definitely gonna be far less work than the ones you two picked out for yourselves."

I grimace. "It just sucks to have to wait." Jasper looks up and nods. "Yeah, and it sucks to have to back up a little."

"Christ, you two are pathetic. If they're worth what you say they're worth, you'd better be prepared to jump through hoops of fire like trained Chihuahuas in a traveling circus, 'cause sometimes that's what it takes. You shoulda seen what my girl put me through before she finally agreed to have me." He looks at me. "Did you come clean about your past life as a scumbag yet?"

I shake my head.

"Well, sooner or later, you need to let her know your track record kinda sucks and you want that to change with her, because hiding that shit never, ever works. But if she's still talking to you at this point, sounds as though you haven't screwed anything up too badly, so just keep on doing what you're doing until she tells you to do something else. Then do that." He looks at Jasper. "And you – dude, put your dick back in your pants and take the girl out for some fresh air and sunlight. Let her know she's not just some mattress accessory to you."

Emmett should charge for this. He's like a relationship Confucious.

Three guys in suits approach our table. Emmett waves them over, and I think it's time for Jasper and me to take a hike, because Emmett had other plans and we weren't part of those. We shake hands with Emmett and thank him for the rescue and the chat, then move over to the pool tables at the back of the bar for a few games before we cut out for the night.

DATELINE, LOS ANGELES – Saturday Morning, 9:04 AM

Edward.

DATELINE, PORT ANGELES - Saturday Morning, 9.22 AM

Bella.

DATELINE, LOS ANGELES – Saturday Afternoon, 4:48 PM

I miss you, Edward. I'm just staring at my cell phone for the hundredth time today, trying to remember why I needed this time away from you. Trying to remember what I need. Trying not to call you.

DATELINE, PORT ANGELES – Saturday Evening, 8:19 PM

Come home, Bella. Come home. I miss you. Let's make waffles.

DATELINE, LOS ANGELES- Sunday Morning, 11:55 AM

"Alice, come ON," I shout. She's been in the shower for forty-five minutes. We were out way late last night; one of the stylists we met with on Friday hooked us up with access to some kind of crazy movie premiere after-party at a bar in downtown LA. The place was smoky and full of beautiful, beautiful people. I had two pomegranate martinis and crashed-landed on one of the plush velvet banquettes at the side of the room, while Alice whirled around the bar collecting phone numbers from celebrities and talking up her designs. She had her phone with her, miraculously charged, loaded with a ton of pictures of her work. I'm always so impressed when she thinks ahead like that – she was made to own and run a business. To temper my admiration, Alice was also dirty-texting Jasper on the sly. She has no self-control whatsoever.

As our cab was taking us back up to West Hollywood, we spotted Wilmer Valderrama coming out of the Pink Dot on Sunset, carrying two super-long Slim Jims and a six-pack of Budweiser. Random. I fell asleep and dreamt of Edward. I feel as though I haven't spoken to him in a month – has it really only been a few days? I'm starved for the sound of his voice. In my dream, we were separated by a plate-glass window, and I raced forward and back, trying to find the edge so that I could go around it and get to him. It was only when I woke up that it occurred to me I could have just broken the glass and made it easy on myself.

We're having lunch today with another stylist, but fortunately, we're meeting downstairs at the Tower Bar, so there's not a lot of travel involved beyond the elevator ride. Our plane leaves at 6 PM. We're reaching the end of our lost weekend in LA.

Alice comes out of the bathroom. We pack up and head downstairs to check out of the hotel and meet with the stylist, who is covered in tattoos and says things like "this is sooooooooooooooooo fresh." It takes her almost as long to say the word "so" as it does for me to eat the better part of my salad. She seems to really like what Alice has to show her, though, sooooooooooo, I'm not going to be mean to her, except for maybe a little bit in my head.

After the lunch meeting, we've got about three hours to kill before we need to head back to the airport. We decide to drive down to the Santa Monica Pier, so we throw our bags into the rental car and take off down Santa Monica Boulevard for the beach.

As we're strolling around the pier eating ice cream cones, Alice turns her face toward mine. "Bel?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"I had fun, but I really want to go home now. I miss Jasper," she sighs.

"I know, Al. I know you do," I say, and put my arm around her shoulder to give her a squeeze.

"What about you? Aren't you missing Edward like crazy? You've been so quiet about him all weekend."

I don't answer her right away, so she looks up at me. "Aaaah, yeah. There it is," she breathes, grinning. "What the hell are we going to do, Bel?"

I have to laugh at Alice, because she still thinks that something – anything – can be done in this situation. "Al, darling. If you're looking for an exit, I think we passed the last one about a week ago. Nothing left to do now but strap in and hold on, sweetie."

She nods her head. "You still scared?"

I nod back. "Terrified. But I'm not scared enough to run away. How about you?"

Alice considers the matter. "I just need to figure out a way to get a little balance. I might need you to remind me about that. A lot," she laughs. "And I'm telling you this much right now: I'm dropping you off at home with the bags, and then I'm going to keep on driving."

Impatient minx. I hope Jasper's eaten well today, because I suspect he's going to need his strength when she gets a hold of him.

"You better come to a complete stop to let me out, midget," I laugh back.

DATELINE – 30,000 FEET OVER PORTLAND, OR – Sunday Evening, 8:37 PM

Alice and I are picking out things we'd never, ever buy from the _Sky Mall_ magazine. She'd never buy the voice-activated R2-D2 robot, and I'd never buy the animated trailer hitch critters. They're super creepy. But we're both digging the bumper boats, big time. Alice is going to find out if Esme would let us get a few to use in their pool.

We're on our way home.

# # #

**A/N – **Waffles will be our code word for hot love. Leave me some waffles in a review – it makes me write faster, and puts a smile on my face.


	10. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

**A/N -** You cover me with your sweet, sweet waffle love. It makes me feel all syrupy and warm and happy. Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback and reviews. You people are the biscuit. The rockin' biscuit, you are. I have no idea what that means, but I mean it with all the love and affection in my heart.

I own no part of Twilight. None at all. Not even an exclamation point, or a hyphen.

The girls are home after their weekend in LA -

# # #

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

True to her word, Alice drops me off and runs to Jasper's as quickly as she can, breaking some land-speed records along the way. I should probably text her and tell her to have Jasper give me his excuse for not coming in to work tomorrow, because I can't imagine he'll be able to walk more than two steps without falling over by the time she's through with him.

I take our bags and muscle them in through the front door, then drop them next to the front staircase. I'm tired, and a little hungry, but more than either of those two things, I am feeling the acute lack of Edward. It's Sunday night, and I've spent the last three days in self-imposed exile from the one person I want to be with more than anyone. Time for that to end. I take my phone out and dial his number.

He picks up on the first ring. He's either been waiting for my call, or he's a member of the Psychic Friends Network. "Bella?"

"Hey," I smile. The smile in my voice is so obvious that it's practically a word all by itself.

I can hear Edward clearing his throat. "Uhm, where are you?"

"I just got home a few minutes ago," I say. I am stretching the truth a little bit there, because I just got home about one minute ago. "Where are you?"

Edward still sounds as though he's got something stuck in his windpipe. "I'm, uhm, at the hospital. It's – what time is it? – 11?"

I check my watch. "Just after. Hey, are you okay? You sound like you're choking over there. You might want to see a doctor about that."

More throat clearing. "No, no, I'm fine, it's fine. Just a little, ah, well…"

I have to laugh, because he's adorable and I'm so glad to hear his voice that it makes me a bit giddy. "Edward? Are you maybe a little choked up because I called you?"

He's laughing too. "You want the absolute truth? The absolute truth is that just now, when I heard your voice, it kind of froze a few basic functions for a moment."

"You're not going to whinny at me again, are you?"

"Bella, I can't deny that whinnying is a definite possibility. I apologize in advance." He is mock-serious. "How was LA?"

"Really great. Alice hooked up with a bunch of stylists and a ton of her pieces are spoken for. We went to an after-show party for a movie premiere, and I drank two pomegranate martinis. Oh – and we saw Wilmer Valderrama come out of a convenience store carrying two Slim Jims and a six-pack of Budweiser."

"How random," he says.

"Isn't it though?" I gather my nerve. "Edward? I need to tell you something very important."

"Mmhmm?"

"I really missed you this weekend."

More throat clearing follows this statement, and I discover that I kind of enjoy being able to mess with him this way. It's not nice of me, but it's a fact. Plus, you know, payback for all the times he's made me blush to the roots of my hair just by being in my general vicinity. I'm still having a difficult time believing that I can affect him at all.

"When can I see you?" he asks. I think what he's really asking is "Is it too late to come over right now?", and the answer to that one is definitely "yes". Tragically, but definitely, "yes".

"I'm done with school tomorrow at about four."

"I've got the late shift – I'm on 'til eleven."

"Then I guess I'll see you at rehearsal on Tuesday," I say sadly.

He sighs. "Okay, Tuesday. What are you doing on Wednesday? I have the day off."

"I think I'm – no, wait. Dammit. We have a facultywide seminar on Wednesday evening for the Fall semester," I grimace. "I can't blow it off, because it's my first full term."

I hear a loud exhale on the other end of the phone. "And then Thursday is rehearsal again. Okay, listen," Edward says. "I'm going to stab whoever I need to stab over here to get Friday night off. You stab whoever you need to stab to make sure your Friday evening is free. If it involves bribery, I'll set up some kind of slush fund, but failure is not an option. I honestly don't care if either one of us is unemployed as a result."

"So, you're planning a date that involves felonies and bread lines. Most guys just go for dinner and a movie," I hint. "And p.s., there's that whole 'do no harm' thing you promised."

"I like to make a strong impression," he sniffs. "And any damage I do I'll happily repair sometime on Saturday. Or Sunday. Or Monday. We've got machines and stuff to keep people alive indefinitely around here."

"I admire your ethical flexibility. And asking me to spend the night in a lock-up with you is definitely coming on all kinds of strong."

"Bella, I really can't have this conversation with you right now. If I do, I'll start wheeling men into the maternity ward and taking stray dogs into the CAT scan suite."

"Stop it, brain-emptier. Stealer of words and reasons," I laugh. "Aren't you done for the night over there?"

"Just about. I'd tell you what's keeping me here, but it's one of those blood-and-guts things that you don't seem to like me to discuss."

"Fair enough. I hope you get out of there soon, though, and that you can patch Humpty Dumpty together again."

Edward sighs. "Okay. See you on Tuesday?"

"Tuesday," I agree. "Goodnight, Edward."

"'night, Bella. Bella?"

"Mhmm?"

"I really missed you too. In case you hadn't already reached that conclusion."

"Go. Heal the sick. I'll talk to you tomorrow," I smile, and end the call.

I'm so freaking glad to be home. I'm just so freaking glad.

Monday drags along endlessly. Jasper didn't make the departmental staff meeting, but I run into him after my late morning class when I go to pick up my mail. He looks haggard, and the tie around his neck is really more a suggestion of propriety than it is an actual fashion statement.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't resist. "Rough night, cowboy?"

He yawns in my face, then grins so widely that I'm once again in a position to admire the handiwork of his dentist. "No, ma'am. Not really."

I snicker back at him. "I think she missed you a little bit, Professor Whitlock."

He yawns again in response, then sighs. "I missed her too. And I don't really want to talk about it with you anymore, because it's none of your business, if you don't mind my telling you so." He gives me a look that's both friendly and firm at the same time.

I was already very fond of Jasper, but the fact that he's determined to be a gentleman about it makes me love him a little bit more, and makes me happy for my friend.

Class is finished by three-thirty, and I'm home by a quarter 'til five. I pace around for a while, throwing a load of laundry into the machine and putting away my bag from the weekend. By five o'clock, I'm bored and restless.

I walk into the kitchen and start to make lasagna. Alice likes the vegetarian lasagna that I make, but I decide I'm going to need a little meat for this one. I make a quick marinara, brown the meat, dig the ricotta and mozzarella cheeses out from the back of the fridge, boil the noodles, and sauté some baby Portobello mushrooms. I start assembling the lasagna, layer by layer, adding a layer of creamed spinach as well. I top it off with some mozzarella and a thin layer of grated pecorino romano, then put it in the oven to bake for forty minutes. While it's baking, I run upstairs to freshen up and make sure that I don't have pen marks on my forehead or anything too obviously teachery about me. I brush my hair and put on a little lip gloss, which is about as far as I'm usually willing to go with makeup.

When the lasagna's done, I pull it out of the oven, cut it in half, and put half into a smaller dish, which I wrap with aluminum foil. I head on over to the hospital.

It's just after seven-thirty when I get there. I park the car and walk through the emergency entrance, stopping at the desk to see if one of the nurses can call Edward for me, if he's not too busy.

The nurse at the desk looks me up and down. She reminds me of a passport agent – cold, gray, efficient, intimidating. "You the reason that one keeps bumping into furniture around here lately?" She narrows her eyes at me.

I hardly know how to answer her. "I don't know," I admit nervously. "Maybe he's just naturally clumsy?"

She snorts and pages him to come to the desk. He takes his sweet time getting here, too – it's a full ten minutes before the exam room doors swing open and Edward appears.

He's momentarily stunned to see me standing there, but recovers quickly and rushes over. "Bella? Is everything okay?"

I grin at him and hold up the dish with the lasagna. "I brought you dinner, so that you can do a little contrast and compare."

The nurse rolls her eyes. "Boy, find someplace to sit down and eat. I don't want you two standing around here making me listen to you all night long."

Edward's cheeks turn faintly pink as he puts his hand at the small of my back and ushers me into the exam area, where we turn down a hallway and end up in the doctor's lounge.

"Nurse Ratched scares me a little," I confess.

He laughs. "I know – I always look around for a doormat to wipe my feet on when she's on duty."

We sit down at one of the small tables near the kitchen area of the lounge, and I remove the cover to the lasagna and hand him a fork and a knife. "There. I even laced it with hashish to make sure you'd favor it over Elle's."

"You made me hash lasagna?"

"Yeah, well, I wanted to hedge my bet a little bit. You might want to microwave that, Chef Masen – it's probably no better than room temperature by now."

"Are you kidding me? I don't care," he grins, and starts mowing joyfully through the lasagna. I sit and watch him eat. He's methodical in his approach to a meal, cutting neatly and evenly. After he's taken a dozen bites, he pauses to look at me and cocks an eyebrow. "Can I ask what made you come all the way over here tonight to bring me this awesome hash lasagna that leaves Elle's admittedly-fantastic-but-now-obviously-inferior version in the dust?"

His eyes pull me in like the tractor beams of the Starship Edward. "I just…I just wanted to see you." I can't make that look or sound casual, no matter how hard I might try. I don't try, because what's the point? I mean it, so I say it. I'm in this now, and if I'm in it, I'm going to do more than dip a toe in here and there. Nothing great is lightly won.

"Bella," he says quietly, and all the lights around us seem to fade, leaving us in a spotlight. He leans across the table and kisses me, a tender marinara kiss full of agreement. He wanted to see me too, his kiss tells me.

Nurse Ratched chooses this moment to stride into the lounge and practically growl at us. "Doctor, if you're done with _dessert_ over there, we've got incoming with chest pains. ETA five minutes."

Edward heaves a sigh and stands up. "Crap. I have to go play doctor now."

"I'll play nurse for you, but only if there's no blood involved," I joke, standing up as well.

The look on his face is riveting. He walks quickly toward me, backing me against the wall of the lounge and placing a hand on either side of my head. "Bella," he says through slightly gritted teeth. "Please don't say things like 'I'll play nurse' around me unless you mean it. I like to think of myself as a civilized person, but I've got limits, and you're reaching them."

_Holy crap. The hotness. Lust sublimation activated._

He bends his head down and I'm the lucky recipient of a kiss which is brief but nonetheless electrifying in intensity. "Just don't hold me back with one hand and pull me forward with the other, okay? That's all I'm asking. It's not fair," he says, slightly breathless.

My knees are quivering. I attempt to nod because the words are gone again. Jesus, they're escaping with frightening regularity these days. He takes a deep breath and straightens his back, removing his hands from the wall and giving me space to move again. I don't know how to tell him that I no longer need or want that space, and anyway, he's got an ambulance full of trouble headed his way, so now is not the time for this conversation.

He's also contrite now, which kills me. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'm really sorry," he says sadly. "I didn't mean to lose it like that. I'm just trying to give you the absolute truth, and sometimes that absolute truth doesn't make me sound very noble."

"Edward, don't…," I start. We can hear sirens now, and he's got to go, so I don't have a chance to tell him that he was right and I was wrong.

As I'm driving home, I realize that there is no way I will make it past our date on Friday night without giving myself to this strange, smart, beautiful man, and taking him in return. The agony of my wait is over. And I'm very, very sure about that. I care about the possible consequence of heartbreak, but I don't care enough about it to let it stop me.

We block Act V in rehearsal on Tuesday. I watch Benedick challenge Claudio, and seeing Edward be so menacing sends chills down my spine.

'_I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. _

_Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, _

_and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you.'_

Jasper looks a little startled too. I'm not sure if that's because it's a natural reaction for Claudio to have, or if it's because seeing the customarily calm and rational Edward bare his teeth is so strange. He really sounds pissed, and I realize that I saw the faintest traces of that anger when he backed me against a wall on Monday night. He's using Benedick to vent his frustration about me. How can I tell him that there are no more obstacles in our path? Is it even wise to announce something like that? Probably not here, surrounded by our cast mates, in the basement of the community center.

When we get to Scene ii, Benedick and I have our sweet moment. He looks at me and says

'_And I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?'_

Edward has shown me no bad parts – not even an addiction to televised bass fishing. I couldn't answer that question if we were really talking to each other. Beatrice teases him, though:

'_For them all together, which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?'_

I don't want to suffer love anymore, Edward. I don't want to make you wait. I don't want to make me wait.

Benedick is saying

'_Serve God, love me, and mend.'_

I will, Edward. I am mending. You are mending me.

Our walk out to my car is interrupted by Ben, who is playing Leonato.

"Hey you guys, wait up!" he shouts as we're walking out the door. "Listen," he says, as we climb the stairs and head outside. "I was thinking it might be kind of fun to do a cast party or something around Labor Day. You know, just get us out of the basement here and give us all a chance to hang out before we go into the final push to get the show up. Any ideas?"

I think for a minute. "Well, we could do it in a bar or something, but that's just trading one room for another," I smile. "Let me check – Alice's parents have a big place nearby, and they've got a huge pool in the backyard. Maybe we can do a 'farewell to summer" pool party for the cast?"

Ben is instantly in love with this idea. "That would be absolutely stellar. Can you ask her about it, like, tonight, maybe?"

I nod, even though I'm sure Alice will agree to the scheme, and Carlisle and Esme are the world's most enthusiastic host and hostess. "I'll check with her and have your answer on Thursday. Is that okay?"

"You bet. And we'll make it a kind of BYO deal, where everyone has to show up with a bag of chips or a bottle of something."

We're at my car, and Ben doesn't seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. Edward and I look at each other to see if either one of us has a clue as to how to get rid of him. We don't.

"Okay, so I'll talk to you on Thursday. Thanks for doing this, Bella," Ben says. The he turns to Edward. "Hey man, where are you parked?" Edward indicates with his hand that he's in the parking lot across the street. "Me too. Come on – I'll walk you over."

We could say that we'd like to be alone and thank Ben for the offer, but then he'd probably just watch us make out next to my car, and that thought doesn't make me comfortable. I don't want everyone to know this about us just yet. The little kisses I get before we start to rehearse are innocent and friendly, but the kisses which happen out here by the car are no such thing. And they belong to us.

Edward guesses what I'm thinking, as usual, so he gives me a rueful smile and says "Goodnight, Bella," then he follows Ben across the street.

On Wednesday, he calls me to let me know that the library a few blocks away from his house is showing _It Happened One Night_ on a large outdoor screen as part of their "Films Out of Doors" series on Friday night. He wants to know if I'd be interested in making it a picnic dinner and a movie, which sounds great to me, so I readily agree. I've never seen _It Happened One Night_, so Edward launches into a brief synopsis of the plot. How can I argue with Clark Gable being all moody and gruff and super-smart and sassy Claudette Colbert giving him grief? Plus, Frank Capra directed it, so it's got to be happy and fun and snappy. I tell Edward that I'll bring the food because I don't want to dine on Ritz crackers and American cheese. He's insulted, and says his plan was movie-appropriate popcorn and shrimp cocktail.

"Shrimp cocktail, Edward? You rarely see shrimp cocktail at the concession stand in a movie theatre. Is this part of your strong impression plan or something?"

"Fine. I'll make some nachos and toss a few Raisinets on top," he answers.

"Milk Duds, please. Raisinets don't melt well enough and raisins have no business in the nacho universe. If it's just gooey carmelly chocolate, I can pretend it's mole poblano."

"You're really very bossy, and difficult to please. I give up – bring the food if it'll make you happy," he sighs. "Did you stab the appropriate people to make sure you're clear on Friday?"

"Yep – they're all dead. How about yours?"

"Worm meat. The movie starts at eight. I'll pick you up from your house at about seven, okay?"

"Perfect. Are you bringing a blanket and chairs?"

"Chairs? What kind of a picnic would it be with chairs?" he laughs.

"Says Mister 'I'm bringing shrimp cocktail to the movies'."

"I'm bringing the blanket."

"See you tomorrow at rehearsal, then."

We finish blocking Act V at rehearsal on Thursday. Benedick and Beatrice admit that they love each other, and their story ends with a kiss. Edward gives me a chaste peck on the lips, and it's weird, because it's Edward kissing me, but it's also _not_ an Edward kiss. These are lips that I'm kissing on a fairly regular basis these days, so it's odd to have them feel different. But they do.

I head Ben off early and let him know that we've got a green light for the pool party next weekend at Carlisle and Esme's. We just need to let them know which day of the weekend we're talking about. Ben gives Alice a hug to thank her, and I see Jasper's eyes spin briefly, like the wheels in a slot machine. He keeps the irrational jealousy in check, though, and doesn't make any comment.

Ben is telling everyone about the pool party plan, and they all seem pretty excited. Even Banner wants to come along, which I'm really happy about – none of us get much of a chance to yak when we're here, because there's a LOT of work to do on this production and we don't have months and months to get it right.

Edward and I are finally alone again for the first time since Monday as we walk out to my car. I'm so anxious to really kiss him that I lose no time in grabbing him by his shoulders and laying one on him in no uncertain terms. Edward is right there with me – his arms wrap around my waist and he lifts me up off the ground, crushing me against him and exhaling as though he'd just spent ten minutes under water. These are the lips I know, the ones I can't wait to get my lips next to. I break the kiss only when I'm gasping for air, and Edward removes one hand from around me so that he can put it against his forehead.

"Wow. I'm really dizzy," he laughs, panting.

"Me too. And this concrete doesn't look like a great place on which to take an unscheduled nap." I'm still breathless and flushed, the heat pulsing throughout my entire body displayed in my face.

Edward puts his hand on my cheek. "I really love the way you blush. Even under this hideous streetlight, you look like this beautiful dream I can't believe I get to see almost every day. If I ever saw this blush in candlelight, I'd have to quit my job and take up painting. _'I have marked a thousand blushing apparitions to start into her face'_," he quotes the Friar's lines quietly.

"'_And in her eye there hath appeared a fire,'_" I murmur.

His eyebrows raise and he grins at me. "Is that a fact?"

I can only nod, and he bends down to kiss me again. Within seconds, we're completely worked up once more. I wish public nudity wasn't a fineable offense in this town. Edward slides his hands up the sides of my torso, thumbs coming to rest directly next to my breasts, the sensation making me shiver and press myself into him.

"Bella," he groans against my lips. "Come on – I can't…"

I don't want to have sex for the first time with Edward on the street. Or in my car. And that's where this is rapidly headed, because there is absolutely no denying the fact that if we keep this up for another few seconds, there will be no way to stop the freight train of want that's barreling down the track to which we're both roped and tied.

He pulls himself away from me, panting again. "You need to leave now before I do something really stupid," he rasps, his voice an octave or two lower than usual.

I force myself to straighten up and pay attention to the logic he's throwing down. We have tomorrow night, and that has to be soon enough.

"Okay, okay, I know. You're right," I agree reluctantly, wistfully. I shake my head to restore myself and smile at him. "Seven tomorrow?"

"I'll probably be circling your block by six forty-five," he smiles back, giving me one final quick, ferocious hug. "Go. Now. Please."

When I get home, Alice is sitting at the kitchen table, going through a stack of unopened mail. She takes one look at my face and drops the letter she's opening. "Spill," she commands.

I let out a ragged breath. "Al, you know that feeling where you're standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump? I'm there," I tell her.

Alice appraises me with her sharp, all-seeing eyes. "You telling me you and Edward are _finally_ gonna consummate this baby?"

I give her one nod, and then sink down to sit across from her. Alice is all business at this point, because she knows me well enough to know that the attitude is just what I need. I can't talk about how I'm feeling, and I don't need to. She's able to sort that stuff out in the blink of an eye and cut to the heart of the matter.

"Right. First things first," she says, clapping her hands together and then rubbing them. "Shave or wax? Wardrobe? Overnight kit? Protection? Conversation about diseases, etc.?"

"Jesus, Al," I'm blushing now. "Come on, you're freaking me out."

Alice sighs. "You need to be practical, Bel, 'cause you're not a "wing it" girl like me. I'm not saying you have to do anything at all tomorrow night, but wouldn't it be nice to be, you know, prepared for any eventuality?"

I can see her point. I'm going to be nervous enough without adding to the drama. She drags me upstairs to assess my wardrobe situation and then forces me into the bathroom to commune with her hot wax apparatus. I'm still on the pill, so protection isn't an issue, but we definitely haven't had a safety chat and I have no idea how to raise that subject with Edward. The fact that I'm too embarrassed to ask a question like that makes me wonder whether we're ready for this, but hell, I need to bite the bullet and get over that.

I take my toiletry bag and shove some toothpaste, a toothbrush, some shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant into it. I take a small backpack and put a change of clothes and the toiletry bag inside. I have no interest in doing a walk of shame at my age, and I'm loads more comfortable if I know that a change of underwear is possible. I have to choose what I'm taking very carefully, because Edward is picking me up, and I don't want to be loading a suitcase into his car as that might make my intentions a little obvious. The backpack is leather and can kind of double for a really casual handbag, so that's why I chose it.

God, I never planned anything with Jake. I just threw myself into the situation and didn't care about tomorrows. I think I'm preparing with Edward because I care a _lot_ about tomorrows. I want as many of them as possible. No pressure there, Bella.

By Friday night at 6:30, I'm in a rare state of nerves. Somehow, knowing what I want hasn't calmed me down one bit. All I can think about is how this is going to play out. Will I just leap on him the minute I see him? Will he fire the opening salvo? Will we make this decision while we're watching the movie, or will it wait until after the movie is finished? I'm lightheaded just contemplating all the possible scenarios. I might be too freaked out to do anything at all at this point.

I made some prosciutto, mozzarella, basil and tomato panini sandwiches for us to eat while we're watching the movie. I also have some grapes and a can of mixed roasted nuts in there (no peanuts, because I want the cashews and the almonds, not filler nuts). I packed those into a soft-sided cooler along with napkins, a bottle of my favorite cab, and some plastic cups. I'm as ready as I'm going to get. Alice isn't here – she drove to Jasper's about an hour ago, but read me the riot act before she left. It helped for about ten minutes, and then I slipped back into a frenzy.

The doorbell rings at six-fifty, and there's Edward, looking as though he was forged by the hands of exceptionally talented artisan gods.

"Hey," he smiles. "I know I'm early, but I couldn't drive around the block again without raising suspicion. You've got two neighbors out walking their dogs right now."

I take one look at him and forget my own name for a minute, which is definitely not helping matters. He looks at me because I haven't said a word yet, and then suddenly he's laughing at me.

Edward narrows his eyes in playful suspicion. "Bella? Did you sneak a piece of hash lasagna before you opened the door?"

Idiotically, this calms me down almost immediately, and I can answer him. "No, I'm just pretty excited that my neighbors think I have my very own stalker. I'm the first on the block to have one, unless you count plastic-lawn-rabbit lady, but I'm not sure imaginary stalkers should qualify."

"Want me to skulk around and peek into a few of your windows to make it look good?"

I laugh and shake my head. "Don't rile 'em up. You're probably already wanted for murdering colleagues to get the night off."

He grabs the cooler, I sling my backpack over my shoulder, and we head to the car.

The lawn in front of the library is already filling up with Friday night movie buffs when we arrive. Edward parks the car and takes a big blanket out of the trunk, which he rolls up and sticks under his arm. He's got the cooler in one hand and is holding my hand on the other side. After having a conversation about how close to the screen we generally like to sit, we discover that we're both center/center people, so we stake out a good spot in the middle, spread the blanket, and open up the cooler.

"No shrimp?" he pouts.

"Try a sandwich instead," I suggest.

We're munching and drinking when the movie starts, and I'm instantly and totally enthralled by it. It's wickedly smart and funny, and it has a lot to say about class distinctions. It's so obvious that Peter and Ellie are falling in love with each other – I want to slap them both for not realizing it. The blanket Peter hangs between their beds when they're in the hotel room reminds me of the wall I put between Edward and myself. Peter doesn't want that blanket there, and Ellie doesn't want it either. I don't want my wall there anymore, and I sure hope Edward agrees. I'm pretty sure he does.

Edward and I are lying on our stomachs next to each other, our heads propped up by our hands. We're close, but not touching, and that's not close enough for me. I scoot over so that our shoulders are rubbing against one another, and Edward turns his face from the screen to look at me. Without saying a word, we both drop our heads down to the blanket and turn to lie on our sides so that we're facing each other. He takes my hand in his and curls his arm up so that the knot of our hands rests between our two bodies. We just lie there, looking at each other, listening to the voices from the movie, listening to Peter tell Ellie about the fact that he's never been in love, and that if he ever finds the right girl, he'll take her to this tiny island he once saw in the Pacific, where night and moon and water all become one.

"Take me with you, Peter. Take me to your island. I want to do all those things you talked about," Ellie says.

I'm not nervous anymore. Whatever happens next will be the right thing, and if I get hurt, it will have been worth it.

Ellie thinks Peter's abandoned her, so she goes back home to marry King Westley, the biggest drip in the universe. Peter follows her to New York, refusing to accept the $10,000 reward for finding her. Ellie's father asks Peter if he's in love with her.

"I asked you a simple question: do you love her?"

"Yes! But don't hold that against me – I'm a little screwy myself."

Ellie's running from the church in the middle of her wedding. She's running away from the safety and security of the world she knows and running toward the unknown with Peter. Because safe means nothing when you feel the way she feels. Safe is dangerous when you feel the way she feels.

They elope, and the blanket wall comes tumbling down.

The end credits are rolling, and neither Edward nor I have moved a muscle in for almost an hour. All around us, people are gathering up their things, packing up, going home.

I look at Edward and echo the words Ellie spoke a short time ago: "Take me with you."

As if we're in a dream, we stand slowly and pack up our things. Edward holds my hand again and we start walking. I vaguely recall that we drove here, and Edward's car is still parked near the library, but we don't seem to be able to focus enough to find it, so we just walk to his house instead. We're in no rush now – we stroll quietly along together. When we get to his door, he lets go of my hand to open it up, then he stands aside to let me in first.

His house is large and comfortable. We put our things down in the hallway, and I take in the masculine air of the place: the big coffee-colored leather couches, the wood floor, the large, low, square table in the center of the living room, strewn with mail. Edward drops his keys into a plate on a small table near the front door. He's just standing behind me, watching me as I learn this space.

Finally, I turn to face him. In one step, I close the distance between us, and I put my arms around his neck. The look on his face – the mingled passion, and confusion, and hesitation – I'm sure it's echoed on my own. His lips touch mine for a moment. "Is this all right? Is this really all right now?" they ask.

My lips answer "Quit stalling. Come here. I need you." My lips are apparently slightly bitchy – I need to talk to them about that when I have some free time.

It's at that moment that the dreamlike state ends and all hell breaks loose. We go from quiet and hesitant to full-on conflagration in the blink of an eye. I don't know where to touch him first, and he seems to be having the same issue with me. Our hands knock into each other as they move from face to back to ass to shoulders. Our mouths are not content with any sensible rhythm, and open and close against each other in atonal gasps, tongues lashing out and around, searching for and occasionally finding each other.

It's absolute chaos. Edward is backing me up to the staircase. We tango up the first four steps before my knees give out and I have to sit down. He kneels in front of me on the step below, pulling my shirt out of my jeans and pushing his hands underneath to feel my bare skin. Blood drums a deafening tattoo in my ears, drowning out the panting and the moans. I grab the front of his shirt and try to focus my trembling fingers on undoing the buttons there. Exasperated, Edward breaks away to yank his shirt over his head, and my hands find his smooth, bare chest. They run and skip over the surface as though it were a playground. He shakes as they travel lower, finding his navel.

"Up. Get up," he grunts. I try to stand, but my legs won't cooperate, so he picks me up under my arms, throws me over one shoulder, and carries me the rest of the way up the stairs. I wrap my legs around him as he stumbles dangerously toward the bedroom. We stop before we reach the door, Edward pushing my back up against the hallway wall, grinding his hips into mine.

"Go," I groan, trying to get him to finish the journey to the bed. There are still too many clothes between us, and we're wasting time out here.

We make it to the bedroom. One dim lamp on the nightstand is all the light we have to work with. I'm standing now, working desperately to shed what I'm wearing. Edward kicks off his shoes and tears at the button on his jeans, trying to slide them off of his body without undoing the zipper first. I fling my shirt, and my bra, and my pants and panties away from me as though they were grenades with the pins pulled. Edward looks up for a moment to watch me. "Jesus," he growls.

Finally, finally, we're on the bed, and we can feel each other without fabric borders. His hands grasp my breasts and he sucks in a breath as he kneads them and pushes his palms against my hard nipples. My hand travels down to grab his unbelievably anxious erection, stroking firmly, needing to feel it.

"Oh my God," we both breathe at the same time, and laugh and groan because this is so overwhelming it's impossible to approach it from anything close to a rational perspective. The feel of each other, so close, skin to skin – it's too much to take in.

"Bella," Edward whispers into my hair. "Oh, Bella, I wanted this to be – I didn't want to attack you like an animal. I wanted this to be slow, and sweet, to show you – I want to show you how I feel about you. I don't know how to do this with you," he says, sounding forlorn.

I kiss his face, his cheeks, his chin, his jaw. "Shhh," I say. "Let's just be. No more thinking. Let's just be."

We move more slowly now, enjoying every touch, every caress, without embarrassment or shame, hiding nothing from each other. He looks at me, at every inch of me, fingers exploring my calves, and my thighs, my hip, my breasts, lips following the fingers which followed the eyes, finding every freckle, kissing every blemish, tongue tasting me everywhere. His hand parts my legs and his fingers trace a painfully slow course around the slick, wet flesh they find there, making me moan his name.

"Beautiful," he says softly. "So beautiful."

I kiss whatever part of him I can reach, hands moving up and down his back, scratching lightly, feeling him arch against me when I do that. He asks me in a whisper if he should get a condom, and I tell him I'm on the pill. "I'm safe," he says. "Me too," I answer.

Edward rolls slowly on top of me, hooking his arms under my shoulders, holding my head between his palms. We're looking into each other's eyes as he eases himself into me, filling me, the missing piece. I'm complete now, I feel whole. Moving slowly, he lets out a soft groan against my cheek.

As our pace quickens, for the first time, I truly understand the conversation between Dottie and Dolores in _She's Come Undone_. "It's just friction," Dottie says about sex. Everything in my life up to this point has just been friction. With Edward, on me and inside of me, I understand the difference now, because this is not just friction. This is not just nerve endings. This is marrow deep, and true. Jake was a skillful lover, but an empty one. Edward is giving me every piece of himself, every part he has, and I'm giving myself back to him. I feel so stupid for believing that anything was even close to good now that I have the definition of the word in my arms, now that I'm moving against a true good, the right right.

"Bella," his voice is low and husky in my ear, and just the sound of my name on his lips sends me flying, falling, spiraling, spinning out into nothing. I clench around him, panting, hot breath escaping in fits as I whimper and shake against him. Don't move, I beg him silently. Let me stay here forever.

He's close behind me, twitching and spilling into me with a loud groan and a "ssshiiit" hissing through his teeth, and I hold him there, just there, with my legs wrapped around him and my feet pressing into his ass.

Edward shifts his weight slightly so that he's not in danger of crushing me. We're still joined together, arms wrapped tightly around each other, neither one of us willing to change that, wanting to hang on for one more moment to the unbelievable connection. We just lie there for a while, not moving or speaking, catching our breath, returning to earth.

He's combing my damp hair away from my face with one hand and kissing my forehead. "Are you okay?" he asks me.

I burst into hysterical laughter, because describing myself as "okay" at this moment seems completely comical to me. When I can speak, I answer, "Yes. I'm definitely the very most 'okay' I think I've ever been. Are you okay?" I tease.

He covers his eyes with one hand and smiles. "No. I'm not okay at all. I feel like someone just scooped my brain out and replaced it with oatmeal. Also, I'm afraid to move, because I can't feel my legs."

I run one hand lightly along the side of his thigh. "Hmmm…well, a cursory exam shows that they're still attached to the rest of you." My hand finds the back of his knee and I tickle him gently there. "Can you feel that?"

Edward pulls me on top of him. "Yeah, I can feel that." He settles my body over his groin. "Can you feel _that_?" He asks me with a wicked grin.

I bite my lip and smile back at him. "'_Once more unto the breach, dear friends'_?" I sling my leg over his body so that I'm straddling him, raising myself up to give him room to position himself. I slide back down until he's inside me again. He sighs and starts quoting _Henry V _as we begin to rock together.

"' _And gentlemen in England now a-bed  
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day_.'"

I love Shakespeare. And even if I'm not going to say it right at this particular moment, I love Edward, too.

# # #


	11. A Thousand times good night

**# # #**

A thousand times good night

EPOV

I'm pretty sure you couldn't get me to go to sleep right now even if you shot me with a dozen darts full of high-grade rhino tranq. I can't stop staring at Bella. I don't want to stop staring at her either, so the fact that I can't stop is really pretty helpful, there.

Because it's really happening. This isn't some kind of sick, cruel delusion – Bella's actually here, in my arms, in my bed, her beautiful face turned just now against my shoulder as she dozes. I would gladly have traded every single happy moment of my life so far for this one and thought myself the winner in that bargain. I can't believe I didn't have to do that.

Something changed when she got back from LA. I don't know what it was, or what happened while she was gone, but when she came back, she was somehow different. She's never been cold toward me at all, but there was always that hesitation, that withholding of herself. I knew it was what she was doing to protect herself. I understood it, even though I didn't like it. But when she came home, it seemed to have – not vanished, exactly – but shifted into a more minor role than it had previously been playing between us.

I want to send the mayor of Los Angeles the biggest flower arrangement I can find. Whatever perspective that city gave her has made me the most insanely happy person on the planet.

Look at this: I can tighten my arm around her and feel her skin against my arm, and my side. I can reach my other hand over and brush her hair away from her forehead. I can lean in to smell her. I can rub my foot against her calf. I can -

"Edward? Edward, what are you doing?" Bella grumbles softly, eyes still closed. Ooops.

"Sorry," I whisper. "Shhh, go back to sleep."

"Mmmmhmmm," she breathes, and snuggles closer to me, burrowing her nose into my shoulder and sliding one leg up until her thigh rests across my knee. Jesus, I will never, ever sleep again if I can watch her do this every night. I'll be like Christian Bale in _The Machinist_, only this is no waking nightmare I'm having. It's the best dream ever.

I tear my eyes away from her to stare at the ceiling for a moment. This last week was a tough one, having her so maddeningly close, yet not having permission to cross lines with her. Not wanting to cross those lines until she wanted me to, because I don't ever want to be a selfish pig around her. I'd had to accept the fact that the space in my head where I could touch or kiss Bella and not have it turn into more was shrinking faster than the polar ice cap.

And she wasn't helping matters one little bit. She was totally _killing_ me. Thank God I wear a lab coat at work, because I was walking around with rebar in my pants all day, every day. I'm pretty sure she didn't intentionally wave a red cape in my face on Monday when she started talking about playing nurse, but shit, given the setting we were in, it took everything I had not to drag her behind the vending machine and take her then and there. It's probably a very good thing that I had to head over to wait for the ambulance, because without that distraction I have no idea how I would have managed to let her out of that room. I was angry with myself for losing it on her, and frustrated because I wanted her to want this as much as I did.

I did something kind of borderline creepy on Wednesday. I drove past her house at about eleven at night, just to see if she was still awake. I'd spoken to her earlier that afternoon about our date on Friday night, before she had to go to the seminar thing, but that wasn't enough for one day, so I found myself driving over there just to be closer to her. I didn't want to intrude on her privacy – I just wanted to be where she was. I parked my car across the street and down a little way, and sat there for over an hour until someone inside turned the lights off for the night.

Then she made that joke about having her own stalker on Friday night, and I panicked for a second and thought maybe she'd seen me and was upset about it, but I joked back and she didn't get mad, so I think it was just a fluke.

Oh my God, Friday night. Are we really still in the middle of Friday night? It seems impossible to contemplate that there is actually MORE of Friday night to experience before the sun comes up.

When we were lying next to each other at the movie, I was trying to tell myself that this might be the closest I got to her tonight, and that I'd goddamned better be grateful for it and not behave as though I'm in any way disappointed. Because it could never be disappointing to spend time with her, and I'm going to take what I can get, whenever I can get it. We were just staring at each other the whole time. Normally, nothing could distract me from a movie like _It Happened One Night_ – I mean, the thing didn't win five Oscars for no reason – but how could I devote any attention to it when I had Bella right in front of me, looking at me that way? Unthinkable. There hasn't been a movie made that's more interesting to me than the movie I see in her eyes. So we just stared at each other, not saying a word, holding hands but nothing more. The truth – and this is going to sound unbelievably corny, but I can't help that – the truth is that being with her that way, I felt closer to her than I've ever felt to another human being. I don't need to explain everything to her; I don't need to explain _anything_ to her, because she just knows.

Then the movie was over, and she looked at me and said "Take me with you."

I shut down my brain and forced myself to think only as far as the next few seconds at a time, because I wasn't going to create any kind of scenario for what might happen when we got to my house. If all she wanted to do was snuggle next to me on the couch, I'd take it and it would be great. I might have to excuse myself to keep running to the shower, but it would be great all the same. I was trying not to have any expectations whatsoever. It had to be Bella's choice.

Just seeing her in my living room, seeing her standing there in my house, was amazing. I like my house, even though it's nothing fancy and you could fit it into one wing of the house in Lake Forest. But seeing her in it, where I'd pictured her so many times over the past weeks, just made it look fantastic, like when you put beautiful flowers into a mason jar or a cracked pot. The flowers are so beautiful that they make whatever they're in look better, and that's what it was like seeing Bella in my living room.

She stood there, looking around. I just stood quietly behind her, because I wanted her to get comfortable with the place. I want her to be here a lot. A real lot. Always.

I was about to suggest that we go and sit down when suddenly she turned and walked back to me and put her arms around my neck. 'Okay,' I thought to myself. 'Stay calm. No expectations. If she wants to make out right here in front hallway, you can do that and be cool about it.'

But her lips were the opposite of cool. They were red hot, and they were on a mission.

I snapped, and she snapped right along with me. Without thinking, I turned into Jack Nicholson from _The Postman Always Rings Twice_, and I was a raging beast, grunting and being much too rough with her as we stumbled our way into the bedroom. I watched her take off everything she was wearing without a second's hesitation, baring everything to me, and it made me even crazier. How could this reserved, quiet girl be so open and free with me? The pressure in my head was so intense that I was afraid I was going to pop some blood vessels in my eyes.

And then we were here, in my bed, nothing hidden. Oh my God, the feel of her! Just the feel of her in my hands! So soft, and smooth, and perfect. I looked at her, and she was perfect. And then she touched me, and as we gasped and spoke together, suddenly, everything changed. Jack Nicholson disappeared, leaving only Bella and myself in the bed. I was mortified, because I only ever want to be a real boy for her, and I had no idea how sex would work if it was just me in the mix. Who am I in this situation? What is true, here?

I needed her to help me, so I told her that I didn't want to attack her, that I wanted this to be slow and sweet because holy Christ, I realize that I'm hopelessly in love with her and I just wanted to show her that, to show her how much tenderness I feel for her. And I didn't know how to do that with her. I've never shown any woman true tenderness before. I've never felt it before now, and I was totally helpless.

"Shhh. Let's just be. No more thinking. Let's just be," she said.

Be as we are when we're talking together. Be as we are when she's making me laugh and challenging me. Just natural and easy, because being with her is never difficult. And in that moment, every ounce of doubt I had about being real evaporated. I _was_ a real boy after all, and what I showed to Bella about myself didn't need to be perfect. It didn't need to be rehearsed, and it was okay if I made mistakes or got the lines wrong. She'd forgive me and understand.

So we just looked, and I touched, and kissed, and felt her. No hurry now, nothing frantic, because we knew that we had all the time in the world. We'd get where we were going eventually, and this part was too precious to not enjoy. This is not just sex. This is love, and I love all of her, every piece, every scrap. I wanted every piece and scrap of her to know how I felt, I wanted to introduce myself to each part, show them and tell them all how honored I was to meet them, how beautiful they are to me.

When the time was right, we knew it, and the moment I was inside her I was reborn. I can never be with anyone else again. The thought is completely repulsive to me, because there is no "after-Bella". I'd better not fuck this up. God, please don't let me fuck this up.

I look down at Bella again. She's still sleeping peacefully on my shoulder, and the sight of her honestly makes me want to cry. I didn't think I was an especially emotional person, but what she does to me is unprecedented. I wonder if I should tell her that I love her. Is it too soon for that? Will she think it's just because we're here, and now sex is involved? I don't want to freak her out, but I also kind of want to tell her everything – about me, about Chicago, about how there is no film fantasy on earth which can compare to how I feel when it's just me and her. I put my cheek on her head and breathe in her sweet fragrance.

"Edward," she sighs. She's still sleeping, and she just sighed my name, which makes me grin from ear to ear like a total mo.

I must have dozed off for a little while, because when I open my eyes, Bella's shifted position a bit and is now lying with her back against my side. She looks a little cold, so I reach down and pull up the blanket, then I spoon her, putting my arm around her waist and hugging her close to me to get her a little warmer. She takes my hand and pulls it up so that it's curled against her left breast. Is she awake, or was that a sleep thing?

It's a sleep thing.

Right. Okay, then. At ease, corporal.

Anyway, I hate that I have to go to work tomorrow. I'm on the late shift again, so I don't have to go in until one, but I'd still like to spend the entire day with Bella. I'd like to spend the next eighty years with her, too. I should really get some sleep; if I stay awake, I'll be too tempted to do everything I can to wake her up as well. Goodnight, Bella. Goodnight. I love you. I can't wait to wake up next to you.

The next time I open my eyes, it's clearly morning, because there's sunlight streaming through the half-opened window at the far side of my bedroom. I feel around the bed and it's decidedly Bellaless. I'm really sad about it, but I get up to see where the heck she wandered off to. Her clothes are still all over the floor; a hopeful sign, and now I'm picturing her wandering around my house in the nude. God, where's my camera – I don't want to miss a minute of this, because it's the coolest thing ever.

I throw on a pair of boxers and start searching for her. She's definitely not upstairs, so I pad downstairs to see if she's maybe lounging on my couch and in a frisky mood.

Nope – not on the couch. I hear noises coming from the kitchen, so I walk back there to see what's going on.

Here she is – she's bustling around the kitchen, humming and swinging her damp, freshly-showered hair from side to side. She's wearing white shorts and a plain blue t-shirt, both of which are instantly offensive to me because they're obstructing what I know to be a fabulous view.

She looks up and sees me standing in the doorway grinning at her. "Hey," she smiles shyly, and dashes over to give me a quick hug and kiss. "Sorry – I was starving and I didn't want to wake you, so I came down here to forage and see what breakfast options were available."

I pull her into my arms and take a small section of her hair to put under my nose like a villain's mustache. "And what did you find here, little girl?" I cackle at her menacingly.

She furrows her brow. "It's actually pretty disturbing, Edward. You've got, like, twenty containers of yogurt, a bunch of slightly over-ripe bananas, two old granola bars, a quart of milk, six eggs, and a freezer full of frozen pizzas. I couldn't figure out what to do with any of it. And then I found this," she pulls me over to the counter near the sink and points at my shiny new waffle iron. I hold my breath, not daring to hope that I'm going to reach the promised land so early in our relationship.

"So, the fact that the only kitchen appliance you own is a waffle iron is kind of kinky, especially since it looks as though it's never been used. Did you get it for opening an account at a bank or something?"

I shrug in a noncommittal fashion, and hope she doesn't force me to confess anything.

"Anyway, I found some flour and baking powder and vegetable oil in a cabinet, so I decided to break in the waffle iron. Is that okay?" She's biting her lip. I can't contain my joy, so I grab her and kiss her like a sailor on shore leave.

"Down, boy," she giggles breathlessly when I finally let her go. "They're just waffles. It's not like I'm making you eggs florentine or anything."

"Bella, you don't understand," I shake my head at her. "I'm a man of simple needs. Comfortable shoes. Cars which require little maintenance. Fluffy, absorbent towels. It doesn't take much to make me happy. Waffles are my favorite breakfast food. To have you and waffles in the same place at the same time is literally the most fantastic dream come true for me. It's like the sexiest fantasy ever."

She eyes me skeptically. "Are those tears in your eyes? You're kidding, right?"

I shake my head at her again. "No joke. Absolute truth."

"Wow, that was almost too simple. And it involved no exotic lingerie."

I grab her hands in both of mine. "I need to amend my original statement. To have you, and waffles, and exotic lingerie in the same place at the same time is the new sexiest fantasy ever." And then I kiss her again, because she's here. "But let me tell you something: if I have to choose among those three things, I choose you every time. I'm really, really, _really_ happy right now." Absolute truth. Absolute happiness.

She blushes and looks down. "I'm really, really, really happy too," she murmurs. "And what's even stranger than being really happy is the fact that I don't feel weird about it at all. I'm just completely comfortable."

"You don't feel weird about it because you belong here," I whisper in her ear. "And I don't feel weird about it because there's nothing on this earth I want more than to have you here."

Bella cocks an eyebrow at me and curls her lip. "But first, the waffles, yes?"

"Oh my God, yes. First the waffles. Quit yakking and get to work." I pretend to roll up invisible sleeves, because I'm still just in my boxers and they didn't come with any sleeves. "How can I help?"

"You can eat the waffles after I make them – that would be incredibly helpful."

"Can I watch you make them, though?"

"Sure – I'll pretend I'm starring in my own show on 'The Food Network'. I'll call it 'What to Make for Breakfast After a Night of Fantastic Sex'."

"See, that premise looks much better on you than it would on Emeril."

She snickers and plugs in the waffle iron. Then she measures ingredients into a bowl I am honestly startled to discover that I own and starts mixing up the waffle batter. I love watching her move around the kitchen – my kitchen. I realize that it's stocked for survival, not comfort, and I need to ask her what she'd like me to keep in here so that she'll have what she needs if she ever feels like making anything. I will try very hard not to sound like I'm begging her to cook for me in any way when I ask for this list.

Now that my brain is firing on a few cylinders, I realize something: she's wearing different clothes this morning than she wore last night, and I have proof of that because her clothes from last night are still hanging out on my bedroom floor. Hmmmm.

"Bella?"

"Yah?" She's pouring batter onto the waffle iron, and as much as I want to mess with her about the clothing, I need to wait until the precious waffles are safely in their warm nest before I do so.

"Tell me something, if you would, please. Did you find the clothes you're wearing in my closet? I ask because they don't look familiar, and I'm pretty sure the clothes you had on last night are still taking a nap upstairs."

She turns beet red and won't look at me. _Bingo_.

"Bella?"

"Mhmm?"

"Did you bring a spare change of clothes with you on our date last night? Were you maybe worried that you'd get grass stains or spill something on yourself?" I sneak up behind her as I'm talking. "Was this some kind of end-of-date outfit that you were planning on changing into after the date uniform was no longer necessary?" I slide my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. "Are you like Madonna when you date, with several wardrobe changes depending on what part of the date you're in at the moment? What else do you have in that bag of yours – are you carrying, oh, your lucky snorkel mask, in case we decide to go snorkeling in the bathtub later on this morning?"

She's laughing hysterically and still won't turn around to look at me. "Edward," she finally says, trying to sound very serious. "Leave me alone, please."

"No chance, but nice try," I answer. "Seriously, were you planning on jumping me last night? I only ask because, you know, that information might have been comforting for me to hear at some point during the evening. Had I known what you were contemplating, I'd have taken you to see a cartoon short instead of a full-length feature."

She spins around and is attempting to purse her lips, but the smile keeps winning. "I just thought it might be a good idea to be prepared, for…uhm, potential developments."

"I see. I'm making a mental note now to check your bag every time we go somewhere, so I'll know what's in store for me that day. It's like a Magic 8 ball, only more fashion-forward."

Bella's made a lot of waffles. I eat at least four large ones, covered in butter and real maple syrup, and if someone bursts through the door at this moment and kills me, I will go to my rest knowing that life doesn't get any better. I do the dishes after Bella figures out where I store the dishwashing liquid, and we walk into the living room to curl up on one of the couches.

I have Bella's legs slung across my lap, and she's propped up against one of the couch's tall arm rests. I'm tracing lazy circles around her calf, which occasionally makes her twitch and gently kick her feet. She tilts her head to one side, looking at me.

"God, Edward, if I were you, I'd just walk around in boxers and nothing else all day long," she says.

"Fantastic news! I'll go get you a pair so you can be me for a day."

"No, honestly. Look at you. It's ridiculous how good-looking you are. You're an unnervingly perfect specimen of humanity."

"Pot. Kettle."

She puts her head down. "It's sweet of you to say, but simply not true."

"Bella, you really need to stop trying to convince me that you're not absolutely beautiful. I don't get what you see in me, either, but I'm sure not going to try to change your mind because I rely on your hallucinations to keep you here." I grab her by the hips and pull her until she's lying down on the couch, then lean over her and start kissing down her neck, letting my hands wander up and down her torso from shoulder to hip. "Besides, I gave you a pretty thorough physical last night, so I know what I'm talking about when I tell you that you're perfect."

"Edward," she sighs, and pulls my face up to hers to give me a scorching kiss. I can taste the syrup and butter on her tongue, making her unbearably sweeter than she already is. My hands meet each other at the waistband of her shorts, and I unbutton and unzip them, pulling them and her panties slowly down her legs. She kicks them off when they reach her ankles, and wraps her arms around my shoulders, letting her hands rake through my hair. I feel her feet slide up the sides of my legs; her toes find the waistband of my boxers and push them down, freeing my aching hard-on.

I wouldn't trade places with any movie star right now, with any fictional character from any genre, because I have Bella underneath me on my couch. I wouldn't want to pretend to be anyone other than myself, because then I'd have to share this experience, and I do NOT want to share this with anyone. She's all mine. This is all mine. I thrust harder into her to punctuate the thought and she moans loudly and I forget to think about anything for a little while.

It's getting late now – eleven-thirty, according to the clock on the mantlepiece – and Bella and I are still very busy basking in some pretty amazing afterglow. I don't want to move from where we're lying on the couch, but I know I should be getting up and taking a shower soon. Thirty minutes. Can I just have thirty more minutes like this?

Bella's got her head on my chest, the rest of her curled into my side. "I want to tell you about New York," she says quietly.

"I'm listening," I encourage her, hoping she'll give me an address and a name so that I know where to go and who to beat the shit out of.

She talks into my chest, not looking at me. "His name was Jake. He was a grad student several years younger than I am. There was something so open and honest and just _nice_ about him. I wasn't huge on the dating scene before we met – I mean, I'd certainly had dates, but nothing really long-term. I felt alright about who I was. And then Jake…well, we started seeing a lot of each other. He made me feel really great about myself. He was always telling me how smart and funny I was, how gorgeous I was, how – how sexy I was. Stuff like that. I felt so strong and self-confident when I was with him," she pauses. "Anyway, one day, he just stopped calling. Cold. At first I thought maybe I'd done something to upset him, but I couldn't figure out what that might have been. I didn't see or hear from him for over a week. The next time I saw him, he acted as though he barely knew me. I never got an explanation for why he changed, or what I might have done to make him shut down like that. But afterwards, I had to realize that everything he told me he was thinking and feeling about me was a lie. Just one big lie, and the whole time he was with me, he was pretending to be somebody that he wasn't. Maybe he thought it was cool to date someone older than he was, or mess with my head. Maybe he was bored, or something – I don't know."

Bella exhales gently against my skin. "So I don't trust the nice words anymore. And even though logically, I know I'm at least not completely unattractive, it's difficult for me to believe you when you tell me that you think I'm beautiful, because I've got first-hand experience that what I hear from a man and what is true aren't always one and the same."

I tighten my arms around her and kiss her on the top of her head. "Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry he was such an ass to you. I'm even sorrier that he made you doubt what I have abundant empirical data on about you, because it's a fact that you're beautiful, and smart, and funny, and sexy, and sweet, and just generally the whole megillah of awesome. And I'm going to keep showing you and telling you about it until my lips fall off and time stops altogether, so you need to pipe down and get used to it. Besides, we have an absolute truth rule in effect."

She laughs at me and hugs me back. "You have my permission to try and change my mind."

I can't tell her about Chicago right now. What the hell would she make out of me being such a jerk, such a phony to so many different women? To Tanya? I sound just as bad as this Jake guy, if not even worse. Did I do this to Tanya? Did I make her feel so uncertain about herself too? Shit – I have to find her and apologize, make it right. I need time to convince Bella that I'm a real boy for her, not a liar and a fake, before she has to hear about what I was like back then. She'll never believe me now if I just tell her that it's so different with her. If I tell her that I ran away from Chicago because I didn't want to be that person anymore. If I tell her that I felt unfathomable remorse for being such a superficial asshole to so many women. If I tell her that I love her.

"I don't want to go to work today," I groan, changing the subject. "Write me a note or something – you're a teacher, they'll believe you."

Bella squirms out of my arms and sits up. "Come on," she says, and slaps my flank lightly. "You've got a job to do, and you're totally cutting into all my traditional Saturday lazy time."

I don't know how to ask her what I'm about to ask her in a smooth way, so I just plow ahead and say it. "Will you stay here again tonight? Please?"

She smiles. "Okay, if you want me to. I do have to go home and take care of some things, though."

"Of course you do – there's a whole new wardrobe to pack and tennis rackets and flippers to find and whatnot," I grin.

"Shut up. Should I meet you at the hospital?"

"No, because if you're there, I won't be concentrating on anything but you. You're way too distracting. I'll give you my key and you can come back here whenever you want to. I'm going to walk out of work at eleven on the dot no matter who's on fire or bleeding."

"Oooh, compassionate. Want me to make dinner or something? It's probably a little too late to be eating, but I will if you'd like."

I grab her again and kiss her just for the thought. "Bella, my kitchen is not prepared for the likes of you. I was meaning to talk to you about that at some point, but it can wait. I can stop and pick up some food on my way home – would that be alright? Anything you like – you name it."

"Chinese?"

"Done. Tell me which dishes you like, and I'll pick it up."

Bella likes almond gai ding or chicken with cashew nuts, cold sesame noodles, and brown rice. I commit these facts to memory and run upstairs to take a quick shower. I thought about inviting Bella to join me, but I know it would definitely have meant I'd be late for work, and my goal is to leave as early as possible tonight.

I feel so great that I practically bounce down the stairs, and then I suddenly realize that I drove Bella on our date last night, and now there's not enough time to drive her back home.

"Bella! Where are you?"

She comes sauntering out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water in one hand. "Sorry, just went to grab something to drink. What is it?"

"I just realized that there isn't time for me to drive you back home before I go to work. If I give you my car, will you drop me off and then drive it back here tonight? I can take a cab from the hospital." This whole conversation is so blissfully domestic that I'm grinning externally and internally while speaking.

"Don't be silly – I'll just call Alice. She'll come pick me up."

"Are you sure? Why don't you call her now and see if she's okay with that. If not, Plan A."

She calls Alice, who was just on her way out the door in Forks to meet up with Jasper. Alice agrees to let Bella take her car, because she can get a lift back from Jasper tomorrow. I hear them whispering in the shorthand of friendship, and Bella's blushing again, which I take to mean that Alice has guessed that Bella and I now know each other in a biblical sense. I hope she approves, but if she doesn't, I don't plan on stopping the bus to wait for her to get on board with the concept.

Bella goes upstairs to gather her clothes off my bedroom floor. It gives me a pang to know that they aren't there anymore, because the thought of them, of what came after they fell to earth, makes me smile like a fool every time I think of it. Which is, like, every minute. I can't imagine who in the world is going to take me seriously as a doctor tonight, because I'm probably going to look more like Chuckles the Clown with a stethoscope around his neck than someone you should trust to tell you whether you're going to live or die.

I take my house key from my key ring and keep it out for her. I don't have a spare; I've never needed one before this. I hope she won't give it back to me, and that I'll be dependent on her to let me in here every night.

She comes back down with her backpack considerably bulkier than it was when she went up there. I smirk at her but I don't start in again, because I had enough fun with that this morning. I let her get to the bottom of the stairs before I go over and grab her, spinning her around in the air and landing her feet on the floor again. God, she's fun to hug. And kiss. And fondle. And – I have to stop going down that path in my head, or I will never make it out the door.

"I absolutely hate the fact that I have to leave right now," I say, putting my forehead against hers. And I do. I hate it.

"I'll see you tonight," she answers, smiling shyly.

"Say that again, please."

"I'll see you tonight," she laughs.

"That is possibly the nicest thing I've ever heard anyone say. You could say that all day and it would be like music. In fact, I may call you every hour on the hour this afternoon to hear you say it."

"I'm not a cuckoo clock, Edward."

I hand her the key.

"I'm off at eleven, so I'll be here at roughly eleven-o-two. Faster if I can manage it." I really don't want to leave. Really.

Bella rolls her eyes at me and starts pushing me gently in the direction of the door. "Go."

I'm almost out the door, but I have to turn around and give her one more kiss before I leave. It's seriously like I won't be able to breathe for the next ten hours. Pure misery. But she'll be here when I get home, and that thought alone might be enough to make the day bearable. She'll be here when I get home.

"Save my place," I warn her, and then force myself to walk out the door and back to the library parking lot to find my car.

# # #

.


	12. Strange bedfellows

# # #

Strange bedfellows

BPOV

I watch Edward walk down the street to get his car, then I close the door and lean forward against it, smashing the side of my face against the hard wood.

_OhmyGod. Oh, my God. Oh! My God._

Twenty-four hours ago, I was a sane, normal person. I mean, yes, I had it bad for Doctor Masen, but I could still function in the world, do my part, consider questions beyond things which only had to do with him. In the wake of last night and this morning, however, I've since reached a new level of blamitdeboopareedo about him. I have to make words up to describe this thing. He drives me so far beyond crazy that it's like unexplored territory in space and time. He's another dimension, one in which brains and bodies collide and fuse and form something so vast, so all-encompassing, that it literally eats consciousness from the inside out and melts the sky. In a really good way, though. In the best way.

When I woke up next to him this morning, I realized several things in fairly rapid succession:

1. he doesn't move around much when he sleeps, and isn't a bed or blanket hog;

2. he's even more huffable with the scent of sleep and sex on him;

3. I never, ever want to be where he isn't. I'd staple myself to his side if I thought I could get away with it; and

4. It felt as comfortable and normal to be waking up next to him as it did yesterday waking up in my own bed, in my own room, in my own house.

The fact that I was so comfortable was more than a little disconcerting. I'd always felt a little alien waking up at Jake's apartment. I didn't belong there, and everything around me trumpeted that back to me, everywhere I looked. There was nothing in Jake's place that felt familiar to me: his chrome-edged furniture, his large, complicated stereo, the erotic lithos on the wall – all of them were "other", distinctly different from what I might have singled out and chosen to purchase when walking through a shop.

Not so in Edward's house. It is instantly as familiar to me as my own – so much so that I feel as though I know what's in every drawer or cabinet before I even open it. And stranger still, there is no temptation to investigate those drawers and cabinets. I don't want to snoop around, despite the fact that he's given me complete, if tacit, permission to do so by leaving me here in this house all by myself. Perhaps that's why I don't want to snoop. Perhaps that's why I know I don't need to snoop anyway.

I was a little afraid that our first conscious-and-vertical morning encounter would be laced with the usual awkwardness which follows a first night together. I prayed it wouldn't be the case, because when I searched my own heart, I felt no awkwardness or shame about anything involving Edward. Then he found me in the kitchen, and the look on his face – that grin, the utter peace and acceptance and sheer joy of it – mirrored everything I was feeling. And without missing a beat, we fell right back into the sort of ridiculous conversations which were common between us, even if those conversations now boasted new and tingle-inducing punctuation marks.

Just as I feel as though I've somehow always been in this house, Edward's always been in my heart. We were ghosts until time caught up with us, and now we're corporeal and warm and splendidly present for each other. I don't have to wonder anymore whether there's someone out there who is right for me, because I've met him. I'm in his house, waiting for Alice to pick me up.

As I'm thinking her name, I hear a sharp rap on the door - tiny knuckles making a big noise.

"Open up, trollop. I've got a half an hour to spare, and I need details," Alice bellows. Thank God Edward isn't home.

I turn the handle and let Hurricane Al inside. "Will you please shut up? I don't want any of his neighbors to know what goes on in here," I beg her. She's holding two cups of coffee, and hands me one.

Alice snorts and pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. "Bel, I'm pretty sure that sex is legal on this block. Encouraged, even. As long as you're not planning to go at it on the front lawn in broad daylight like garden gnomes gone bad, my bet is that his neighbors are happy he's getting some."

She prances to the smaller couch in the living room and flops down. "It's nice in here. Cozy. A good fit for you," she observes.

I'm apparently not giving up details at a speed to suit her, so she kicks my foot impatiently. "Tell me. Everything. It's been too long since I've had a conversation like this with you, and I'm dying over here."

I hardly know where to begin, so I start with what seems to be the most relevant piece of information. "Al," I sigh. "I'm completely in love with him."

Alice lights up like a pinball machine. "Yay! That must mean that the sex is good too, right?" Apparently, the fact that I'm in love with Edward is not the most relevant piece of information as far as Alice is concerned. Or maybe she already knew about that one.

"Don't insult it by calling it 'good', okay?" I'm a little annoyed that such a paltry, beggarly word could be used to describe what's happened between Edward and myself over the course of the last day. "It was – it was beyond good. Really so far beyond good as to make the word good look extremely bad."

"You're totally losing your vocabulary," Alice frowns. "I'm not sure I like that."

I nod my head. "It's unbelievable, Al. I have to make up words to describe to myself what he's doing to me. Just now, before you got here, the word I coined was blamitdeboopereedo."

"Sounds like a game at a carnival midway," she sniffs. "Is he an animal, or is he all sweet? How big? How many times? Stamina? Dirty words or love poems, or neither, but some grunting and such?"

I'm ten different shades of red now, so Alice helpfully attempts to fill in the blanks for me.

"Okay, just nod for 'yes' or shake your head for 'no', you big baby. Animal?"

I nod.

"Cool. So he was all 'nugh, my woman' cro-magnon with you? He doesn't seem the type, but it's always the quiet ones, isn't it," she says with a knowing wink.

I shake my head. "Sweet," I manage to squeak.

Alice is totally confused. "Wait – you nodded that he was an animal, and now you're telling me he was sweet? He was a sweet animal? What, like a bunny rabbit or a kitten or a hamster or something?"

I laugh. "At first he was a bit, uhm, wild, but after that, he settled down and – oh, Al! No words. All gone," I finish lamely.

"Okay, moving on then. How big?"

My eyes open wide, and Alice just hoists her thumb in the air and says, "Right on. How many times?"

I hold up four fingers, because I'm going to count this morning too. "Bel, look at you! I'm so happy for you," Alice grins. "Wait'll I tell Jazz."

"Al, don't you DARE. I have to work with him – I don't want him wandering up to me in the department offices on Monday and asking me whether last night was an exception or a rule."

"He would _never_ do that," she declares, and I laugh at her, because she's out of her mind if she thinks Jasper won't grab an opportunity to make me suffer like that – his desire to be a gentleman will surely end at his own bedroom door. "Is he a dirty talker?"

I start to shake my head, and then stop. "He's much more creative than that," I answer. "He turns monologues about battles into erotica. But honestly, every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like poetry to me." I shrug, because that's the truth. He could read the ingredients from the label on a can of Spam and I'd be melting. My critical ear is non-functional when he speaks.

Alice whistles through her teeth. "Whooo, sister, have you got it bad. I always knew it would take a man of words to undo the laces on your heart." She gives me a one-armed hug. "Anything else I should know about?"

"I made him waffles for breakfast this morning, and he seemed really excited about that. Also, I told him about Jake."

"I'm glad – I'm sure he needed some kind of explanation for why you're so gun-shy about men. What did he have to say about it?"

I bite my lip. "He said that he was sorry Jake was such an ass to me, but that he has plenty of proof that I'm beautiful, and smart, and funny, and sexy, and his plan is to keep telling me about it until his lips fall off and time stops."

Alice sighs. "Oh, Bel, I _like_ him for you."

I grin back at her. "I really like him for me too. He asked me if I'd come back again tonight, and I told him I would."

"No brakes on your love car, either, eh? Okay, but promise me that we'll both spend Sunday night at home. I have a TON of things to ship out from the orders I took when we were in LA, and I could really use your help."

"I promise. How about I swing by Jasper's tomorrow afternoon and pick you up instead of having him drive you all the way back to Forks?"

"Perfect. We can grab dinner or something here before we head back home, just the two of us."

I stand up and look around the room. "I guess I should head back home."

"Yeah, I'm due over at Jazz's. C'mon – drive me over there."

We drive over to Jasper's apartment, where I deposit Alice, who leaves me with her standard warnings about treating her car as gently as a newborn chrome-and-steel baby. I'm just getting onto the freeway back to Forks when my phone rings.

"Bella, it's Edward."

The voice. It just isn't fair at all for him to have a voice like that.

"Ah, Waffleman, my syrupy superhero in boxer shorts. How goes it at the hospital?"

"I'm pretty proud of myself, actually. I made it through a whole hour and a half before calling you. I think with a ton of effort and rehab, I might one day be able to manage three hours, but I know I've got a lot of work to do before that goal becomes a reality."

"It's good to have a goal, Edward. Although I can't say I think much of your goal in the first place."

"Enabler," he laughs. "People are starting to really freak out over here, because I'm walking around smiling like I've got some kind of passive subdural hematoma."

"And in English, that would be…?"

"Sorry – it's a brain injury. You've turned me into a walking brain injury."

"That only seems fair. You stole my vocabulary. If this keeps up, we really will both be unemployed and forced to rely on whatever change lands in our cups as we sit in front of the bus station."

"I don't think it'll come to that. I've got enough cash to float us for quite some time," he says.

"I'm not going to be that monkey on your back, rich boy. If you need me, my plastic shopping bags and I will be hanging out near the Greyhound gates."

"You won't be a kept woman?"

"No, Edward, I will not. I fend for myself."

"Can I at least borrow you on a regular basis? You know, like a library book?"

"Only if you return me in good condition, and by the due date," I giggle.

"I promise to take very good care of you, and not doodle in your margins. Much," he swears, with a low laugh that initiates the launch sequence on my end of this conversation. "What time is it now?"

"It's – hold on – let me check. It's 2:17. Why?"

I hear him sigh. "Eight hours and forty-three minutes to go. Plus the two minutes for driving. Bella, I don't think I'm going to make it."

"Courage. Is there anything I can do to help?" I know it's a loaded question, but I can't resist teasing him a little because he's driving me completely insane.

"Uhm," he hesitates, and now I have to grin. "Uhm. This is some kind of cruel trick you like to play, right? Because there's no safe answer to that. Checkmate."

"Eight hours and forty-one minutes. Go do your job."

"I'm calling you back in an hour. Bye, Bella," he says.

I get home and spend the next few hours attempting to grade essays, do a little cleaning up, and figuring out what I should bring with me when I head back over to Edward's this evening. I'm not nervous about going back there again – just excited. There's a growing part of me that wants to wade around in fantasies about what it would be like to have Edward come home to me every night. To have that beautiful face, with that smile which makes me weak at the knees and makes me want to hand over everything I am and everything I will ever be just to keep it near me, be the first thing I see every morning when I open my eyes.

"Stupid, Bella. Knock it off," I say out loud. Why is that so stupid, though? Why isn't that something I should be wishing for and dreaming about?

I want Edward to doodle in my margins. Indefinitely.

But…while virtually everything in me might be screaming at ear-splitting decibel levels to abandon all caution, there's a still, quiet voice in a tiny, shadowy corner of my head telling me to wait. To let him prove the words, to give him a chance to show me that doubt has no business whatsoever in the thing between us. I love him, and that much is fact. I can't rewind the part of me that's been cast out like a fishing line, because that reel is broken. All I can do is refuse to pull the line back in too quickly, to wait until I'm sure that what the hook of my heart has latched onto is the catch of a lifetime and not some sole-less old boot hidden from my view under murky water. I will sit, like my father and his best friend Billy do almost every Saturday of their lives, and wait for the line to pull true. And in the meantime, I'm going to put on some SPF 3000 and enjoy the solar flare that is Edward.

I head back over to his house at about nine-thirty. It takes me about an hour to get there from my house, but I am thinking that it might be a good idea to change the sheets on the bed and straighten up in there while I have the opportunity to do so, because when he gets home, I plan on tackling him the moment we're done eating dinner. If he had a fortune cookie right now, his fortune would read "Handsome man gets lucky for dessert".

Edward calls me just as I'm turning the corner onto his street.

"Hi, Bella."

"You again? Is it a slow night in the ER or something? You seem to have an inordinate amount of time to fritter away on personal calls," I tease.

"Believe it or not, it's actually been extremely hectic around here, and more than a little bit scary. I just got done treating a man – treating a patient who – well, let's just say that the diagnosis involved a cheating husband, a jealous wife, and some Krazy Glue."

"Edward, the mind boggles. I'm not sure I want to know any more about this."

"Tell me about it. You should know that when Krazy Glue advertizes that it bonds to all surfaces, they aren't kidding. Of course, I really hope with all of my heart that you trust me on this one, and won't test the theory out anywhere near me and my various appendages."

"Are you planning on giving me a reason to test the theory?"

"No," he says, very seriously. "I am not."

"Your job is pretty twisted," I laugh. "The worst part of my job is trying to figure out in which language my students are writing their essays, and whether their penmanship is the result of the careful tutelage of serial killers."

"To be fair, it's not every day that I get a patient who presents with adhesive complications. Tonight is kind of special in many regards."

"Are you working your way up to saying something sweet to me? Because if you are, I need to change gears. Right now, I'm sort of horrified." I turn into his driveway and kill the engine.

"I have less than an hour to go. Less than an hour. By the clock here, I have exactly 34 minutes left. I ordered our food and am having it delivered to the hospital to save me the detour. God, I hope you're, uhm, hungry." He starts clearing his throat again as he's saying this.

"I'm starving. Rapacious. Ravenous. Voracious. Hurry home." Heh. Found some words hiding in a corner, I did.

"Holy Christ. You're like the loveliest lobotomy on earth. I might need to catch a cab home anyway now, because that just took whatever brain cells I had left and pulverized them. Remove all sharp objects from the vicinity of the doorway, please." He's breathing pretty heavily, and the fact that he can feel that and form complex sentences at the same time just completely undoes me.

"Hurry, Edward. Please hurry," is all I can say in response. "Hurry safely, but hurry."

When I get into the house, I quickly take care of things upstairs, and then I spend the remaining minutes pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again. I've turned on a lamp in the living room, as well as the porch light and the under-cabinet lights in the kitchen. In a vain effort to keep myself honest, I've also pulled out two plates and some napkins and placed them on the kitchen counter.

At ten minutes past eleven, there's still no sign of him, and the silence is deafening. He has a stereo in one of the wall units in the living room. It's simple enough for me to figure out, so I turn the power on and instantly, the peaceful strains of "Clair de Lune" gently fill the space around me.

As I turn away from the stereo, I hear the sound of a car screeching into the driveway. I jump to the window to peek outside, and there he is, carrying a bag of Chinese food in one hand as he hurries along the path from the driveway to the house.

Home. Finally, home.

I hear him run up the steps and I dash over to the front door to pull it open for him. He reaches the door as I swing it open, and we stare at each other for a moment, him with his foot poised on the threshold, me with my arm still raised from opening the door.

The moment passes, and in an instant he's through the door, which he kicks closed behind him. He drops the bag containing our dinner unceremoniously onto the floor and grabs me with both hands, pulling me toward him, bending me backwards as his lips find mine and he smothers me in a heated, frantic kiss. I joyfully return it, feeling right again for the first time in ten hours. Feeling comfortable in my own skin again. Feeling complete.

We never even make it out of the front hallway. He sinks to his knees, pulling me with him as we lie down on the floor.

"I'm sorry – I just-" he murmurs against my lips. "Please."

There's no time to undress – we fumble with zippers and I wriggle my shorts and panties down to my knees while he struggles to push his pants and boxers down, and then he's inside me, one hand forming a pillow under my head, the other holding me under my right shoulder, as he presses me down onto the cool wooden floor and buries his face in my hair, kissing my neck and breathing my name over and over again between groans. This is not languid lovemaking; neither is it a passion-filled free-for-all. It's an urgent call of nature, and we both need it the way we need air to breathe, or food to eat, or water to drink. It's not about orgasms, or foreplay, or any kind of thought process. We both just need each other that way at this moment, and neither of us can say or do anything at all until we've had this.

As our pace speeds up, I arch my hips into him and we're gradually creeping forward with every thrust. I can feel myself sliding against the slick, polished floorboards, and I briefly wonder whether we'll finish before we skid into the kitchen. The thought makes me want to laugh, laugh with relief and amusement and happiness. Despite the fact that we're really caught up in what's happening right now, the happiness inside is so overwhelming and I have no way to control it from this unguarded position, so it wells up and spills out in a breathless chuckle.

Edward looks up, and upon seeing the smile on my face, he smiles back. Our smiles contort as he finds the best spot inside me, pushing against it harder and faster now. I no longer care if we slide into the backyard, or the street, or the auditorium of my old high school. There's only Edward, and me, and this.

"Come on," he growls at me, even though he knows I'm right there. I can feel myself turn inside out as all the muscles in my body pull in on themselves, then explode out again, rippling endlessly in circles all around me as Edward's orgasm skips across my own, creating new rings inside the circles.

He collapses next to me on his back, the hand which was under my shoulder now holding his chest. "Jesus, Bella – I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait another minute to do that," he says, pulling me over so that my head rests in the crook of his shoulder. "Is your head okay? I didn't bounce it on the floor, did I?"

I roll over and reach up to kiss his face, and tell him what I was thinking earlier about sliding into the kitchen. He finds the idea as hilarious as I did, and we look around to see where we ended up. We've scooted all the way past the staircase, knocking over the umbrella stand on our journey.

"Did you hear that fall?" he asks with mild curiosity.

I shake my head. "I'm starving."

He sits up, pulling me with him, then stands and offers me his hand. I jump up as well, and we haphazardly reassemble our clothing before he grabs the bag containing our dinner and we head into the kitchen.

We eat dinner at the kitchen table. Not surprisingly, Edward doesn't own a tea kettle, so I find a pot and boil some water, into which I drop the tea bag which came with our dinner, pouring us both a cup of steaming, fragrant tea. I look at him as I set his cup down in front of him, and he's grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he grins back. "It's just – this is so great, you being here, eating Chinese food in my kitchen at midnight."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Better than breakfast?"

Edward leans over to kiss me. "Don't talk crazy. Nothing is better than breakfast. But it's a pretty close runner-up."

I'm using my chopsticks to pick through the chicken with cashews, trying to ferret out every single cashew in the dish. Even though I know I should probably eat the mixture in a random fashion in order to maximize the harmony of the flavors, I always pick out the cashews first, because they're my favorite part of the meal. "Edward?"

"Mhmm?" he says, his mouth full of lo mein.

"What are your parents like?" I wonder because even though he's given me the basic facts, I want to know who was responsible for raising the person in front of me.

He pauses to consider the matter before starting to talk. "Well, let's see. My father was one of those annoying, brilliant students who graduated early from Harvard with a degree in physics and plowed through medical school with professors telling him he should concentrate on the most complicated and difficult sub-specialties, which is why I think he became a neurosurgeon. He's a classic overachiever, but I think he was always a bit sad that he wasn't the kind of regular kid who could hang out at a kegger on a Friday night. His friends are all super geeks, and when they come over to the house for dinner, they pretend to talk about serious stuff in front of my mother. As soon as her back is turned, they're whispering about things like the old Japanese cartoon _Gigantor,_ or the movie _Tron_. He wasn't the kind of dad who'd pull me out to the backyard on Saturdays to have a catch, but he did teach me how to ski, and now I that I'm older, I think he finds it easier to be around me." He takes a sip of tea before continuing. "He didn't exactly encourage my love for plays and books and movies, but it was okay with him as long as I didn't slack off in school and I became a doctor."

"And your mother?"

Edward laughs and scratches his forehead. "Ah, mom's a different story. She's a force of nature. I think dad's still secretly a little intimidated by her, even though he'd never admit it. Let's see…what can I tell you about mom. She's way more driven than my father is. I have no idea when she actually sleeps, because as far back as I can remember, she was always, always up and moving around at the speed of light. She sits on I don't know how many boards for charitable organizations and she's a docent at several galleries and museums in Chicago. Between those things and her clients, she's almost always running out to a meeting somewhere. I don't think she's home for more than a few hours a day. She and Yoda share a common philosophy – 'Do or do not. There is no try'. She wasn't around too much when I was little, but when she was there, she liked playing blocks with me or building things together. And whenever I see her, she's always after me to get a haircut," he smiles.

"I love your hair," I frown, and run my hand through it. Edward grabs my hand and places a kiss in the middle of the palm, then gives it back to me. "So, it sounds as though you were a little lonely as a kid. I get it – the only child thing is sometimes a lonely hang. I never had a ton of friends or family around either, so I disappeared into books."

He nods. "I had plenty of things to occupy me, and there was always someone in the house to watch, but nobody seemed to care for the same things I liked. It wasn't a bad childhood by any means, though. I know my parents love me, and I love them. They weren't happy when I moved away from Chicago. I should really go back and visit them soon."

"Speaking of, why _did_ you leave Chicago? I mean, you know why I left New York, even though I probably could have stayed and dealt with things if Alice hadn't insisted on getting out. But it's strange that you had a residency in a great hospital in a big city, and you chose to come here instead."

Edward looks down into his cup of tea, not saying anything for a minute. Finally, he looks back up at me. "I just needed to get away. I didn't like who I'd become, and I wanted a fresh start."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

He sighs. "Bella? You remember when I asked you what happened in New York, and you told me you didn't want to talk about it at that moment? This is kind of the same thing for me. I promise – I swear to you – I'll tell you all about it, and soon. Just not…right now, okay?" Edward looks at me, pleading with his eyes for me to understand.

And I do understand. He didn't push me to tell my story before I was ready, so I'm certainly not going to push him. I try to lighten the mood a little. "Absolutely. You're not wanted for murder or extortion or racketeering, though, are you? If you are, please let me know, because I need to give the English department a heads-up that I might be dragged into protective custody at a moment's notice."

"I swear I'm innocent – except for the people I stabbed to get last night off," he smiles.

"Eh, who cares about them anyway? Justifiable homicides. They had it coming," I grin.

We finish up in the kitchen and head out to the living room to relax a little bit. The stereo is still playing in the background, only now it's one of Mozart's violin concertos.

"Edward? You said your favorite book was _Atlas Shrugged_."

"It is. Why?" he asks, as he pulls me down onto the couch and puts his head on my lap. I run my fingers though his hair and he closes his eyes, almost purring with contentment.

"Really, Edward? Rational selfishness and objectivism? That seems like a strange philosophy for a physician to espouse."

He opens his eyes to look up at me. "I just think it's pretty realistic. What's wrong with people doing what makes them better if it helps others in the long run? I don't think anyone operates from purely altruistic motives anyway. Everyone does what makes them happy, even if what makes them happy is to suffer and be miserable – is it a bad goal to do what makes me happy if I know that it'll make me a better or more productive person for everyone around me?"

"I guess that would depend on what was making you happy," I reason. "It's just strange because, well, being a doctor means that you always have to put the needs of your patients over your own needs, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but helping them makes me a better doctor, which is what I want to be, so it's also serving my own interests."

"Did you know that Rand had a theory about sex? It's something we English majors at Columbia used to love to debate."

"What was her theory?" He's grinning at me, so I suspect he already knows, but I go ahead anyway.

"Well, if you're going to believe Francisco's version, it's that sex is the physical manifestation of an individual's moral and ethical values. That a man chooses a lover to reflect his value of himself, of who he wants to be, and that therefore a man with the highest goals for his self-esteem chooses to pursue a woman with the highest value as opposed to a brainless slut, because the woman who is the most admirable and difficult to conquer is the only one worth having in the first place."

Edward sits up and lowers his face until it's almost touching mine. "And that, Bella, is why I love _Atlas Shrugged_, and why I'm going to chase you into the ground."

"Think that highly of yourself, do you?" I ask, smiling.

"No, but I think that highly of you, and it's a start," he murmurs, kissing me.

"See, and most of the guys in class would argue that men still go after the largest set of knockers they can find, no matter who they're attached to."

Edward puts his hands against either side of my neck, running them slowly down my shoulders and collarbone until his palms cover my breasts. He rubs them gently before tracing a circle around the nipples with the knuckles of his index fingers. "I'd rather have perfect," he whispers, looking right into my eyes, mesmerizing me, making me forget that I've ever read a single book. He stands up and holds out his hand. "And I'd rather continue this discussion upstairs."

I stand up to face him, and he wraps his right arm around me, guiding me out of the living room. Lights and stereo completely forgotten, we climb the stairs side by side and head into the bedroom, where he spends the next hour showing me just how highly he values me before we both curl up, exhausted, and drift into sleep.

# # #


	13. Some Cupid kills with arrows

The owning of Twilight is not mine in any way. Stephanie Meyer has all the Twilight marbles. I am just wasting your time with some nonsense.

# # #

Some Cupid kills with arrows

"I called my parents – they're flying in for opening night," Edward casually informs me as we're waiting for rehearsal to start on Tuesday evening.

"You _what?_" I shriek.

"Shh – calm down," he laughs. "It's fine, really, I promise. My mother is a fixture at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater and a member of the Shakespeare Society. She's incredibly excited about the fact that I'm playing Benedick. They'll just be in town for the weekend, threatening me with haircuts. We'll have brunch with them that Sunday before they leave."

"What…exactly have you told them about me?" I am all twisted around about meeting them, and have no idea how to act, what to wear, or what to say. I have a little more than two weeks to freak out about it, which is much too much time for me.

Edward looks at me for a long moment before answering, and when he finally speaks, he's blushing a bit. "I just told them, uh, that they needed to meet you. That it was important for them to meet you, really."

"Edward?"

Banner interrupts this fascinating and terrifying conversation by calling rehearsal to order. "Okay, people, we're going to start dress this week, because we're moving into the theater on Thursday. Alice over here has kindly offered her help and advice to Lorraine, our wardrobe mistress, and I think we've got some things which will really help you feel your roles. I need all of you ladies to grab a corset and a skirt. Let's see: Claudio, Don Pedro, Benedick, and Don John, we've got regimental dress jackets for you guys. Everything still needs to be fitted, but the sizing should be approximate based on the measurements we took from you all a few weeks ago. Each of you should grab a scabbard and sash as well. Borachio, you and Conrade have those grey shirts over there, and there should be some black sashes for you as well. Leonato and Antonio, you've got the laced leather doublets. Leonato, you take the black one, and Antonio gets the brown one. The Friar has the monk's robe, of course. Dogberry, you and Verges get the blue jerkins. They're not really dirty – Lorraine rubbed some ash on them to grunge them up a bit. We've still got more costumes coming, so please be patient."

Everyone scurries over to the rolling rack containing the costumes. Edward is scurrying quickest of all, so I don't have another opportunity to address the parent thing at the moment. I take a corset and a skirt marked with my name from Lorraine. Banner yells that we can just put these on over our street clothes for tonight, so I step into the skirt, which is a lovely deep yellow, and fight my way into the corset. Alice trots over to lace me up in the back, and I do the same for her. When we turn around to look at each other, I'm startled to discover that this change of wardrobe takes me totally out of myself and makes me really _feel_ Beatrice in a way I haven't yet done; the flimsy corset I had on the night Edward and I first spoke pales in comparison to this whale-boned piece of architecture I'm currently wearing. I will never again argue with Alice about the power of clothing.

Finished with the exertion of dressing myself, I look around for Edward. He and Jasper are hanging out near the table at the back of the room, which is loaded with water bottles for our consumption.

He completely stops my heart when I take a good look at him. The jacket is a deep, scarlet red, with gold epaulets, brass buttons, and black velvet trim. He's standing beside the table, arms akimbo and hands on hips, and he looks so dashing and handsome and masculine that I now perfectly understand why so many babies are born during wartime. The uniform thing is no myth; it's some potent mojo. He's laughing at something Jasper's just said, and as he laughs, his eyes find mine staring at him across the room. I see him take in the interesting changes the corset has wrought on my cleavage, and his eyebrows shoot heavenward. Hello, soldier – I see your uniform and raise you some breasts. It's a draw, apparently.

Ben comes strolling over to me with Mike in tow. "HelLO, Bella," he whistles, grinning like an idiot. "That's a great look for you." My cheeks burn with a thoroughly predictable blush, but fortunately, Jessica and Angela choose this moment to sashay over and compare their corset-induced bustlines to mine. Neither Ben nor Mike appear to know where to look first – it's as though they've wandered into a hooter zoo and are now lost without a map, wondering which exhibit will shut down first.

Jessica seems to be the least likely to slam the doors on them, so Mike decides that he's going to risk an extended visual tour over there and take advantage of the oxymoronically high-strapped low-hanging fruit. She giggles at Mike and slaps his arm, which serves to encourage his ogling, a thing to which she appears entirely unopposed. Angela is far less inclined to keep her goods on indefinite display now that men are around, but Ben seems oddly compelled to help her achieve a bit of modesty, and in a fit of chivalry, hands her a spare sash to throw around her shoulders. She smiles at him, grateful and a bit shy.

Jasper's migrated from the water bottles to Alice's side, and I swear I see him morph into Rhett Butler as he grabs her by the waist and whispers something in her ear. She smirks up at him and brushes his chin with the tip of her nose.

I feel Edward's presence before I even see him next to me. He seems somehow taller than usual, and he's standing very straight, bending only his head to look down at me. "Erm, that's going to be fairly distracting," he comments. "How am I supposed to argue with those for five acts?"

"They're optical illusions, Edward. At midnight, they disappear into a pumpkin coach driven by enchanted white mice."

"Bibbidi Bobbidi Boob," he smiles, unable to contain either his childish enthusiasm over my cleavage or his pride in his needle-witted riposte.

Banner's clearly tired of watching everyone frolic and gambol around like spring lambs in a meadow, so he reminds us that we're here to rehearse, not speed date. We get down to the business of our first dress rehearsal.

I feel fierce tonight, and am absolutely itching to cut Benedick down during our exchanges. Similarly, Benedick is far snarkier than usual, drawling and smirking and lifting his chin into the air. Even after we've fallen in love with each other, we manage to retain the bite in the dialogue, circling each other like sharks, waiting for an opening, waiting to strike. It's hotter than hot, and by the end of the evening, I can't even look Edward in the eyes anymore because if I do, we'll go at it right here.

Ben announces during the break that our pool party is a "go" for this coming Saturday, and the weather forecast predicts a lovely, sunny, eight-five degree day for the outing. Alice chirps up and lets people know that they really shouldn't feel obligated to bring anything at all, because Esme's already taken it upon herself to call a caterer for the event as a token of her appreciation for the arts. The meal she's planned is a combination barbeque/Maine lobster bake, so the only things we need to bring with us are towels and our appetites.

When rehearsal is finished and we return the costumes, I come to my senses and realize that we haven't finished the conversation about his parents. We drive over to his house in separate cars so that I can head out to work tomorrow without taking his and leaving him stranded on his day off.

"Edward," I say, once we're safely in his house. "Really, please tell me what your parents know about me. About us, I mean. I'm honestly a little terrified of meeting them."

We're sitting on the couch again. My feet are curled up under me, and Edward has his legs stretched out on the coffee table and his arm wrapped around my shoulders. He pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. "Bella, I wish you wouldn't worry. Everything's going to be fine, I promise."

"That doesn't answer my question, though. What do they think I am to you?"

He sighs and starts getting shifty on the couch, but doesn't answer me. "Edward? You're making me really nervous now," I say, my voice slightly tighter than usual. "I'm not going to agree to meet them at all unless or until I know what I'm walking into. It's not fair."

"Fine," he says, exasperated. "I told them that I wanted them to meet my girlfriend, okay? I told them you were my girlfriend. I actually used that word to describe you, even though I don't know whether or not you're okay with me calling you that, because of course that would make me your boyfriend. In my head, and now in my parent's heads as well, you're my girlfriend. And they're pretty excited about meeting you, because I've never introduced them to a girl before, so my mother will probably come at you as though you're a canteen full of water in the desert. We can always get up and leave the table if she starts driving you insane with plans to relocate to Chicago, which I'm sure she has every intention of doing given the slightest opportunity."

I blink at him. "Why would I mind being called your girlfriend, exactly? And why would I mind having you for a boyfriend? I thought that was sort of implied, given our current circumstances."

"Well, I'd hoped it was implied, but since we never talked about it, I didn't want to go around assuming things and chatting to my parents about it before you and I had had a chance to clarify it between ourselves. I mean, it was clear on my end, but I didn't want to shove you into a corner about the whole thing unless you were ready for it."

I start to laugh at him, because he's ridiculous. "Edward, you are a strange and unpredictable man."

"So you're okay with the concept, then?"

I scoot over to sit on his lap and kiss him. "Yes, I'm okay with the concept. As a theory. As a thing. As a general perception for the world at large to have about us."

"Thank God," he smiles, tightening his arms around me. "And I'm really sorry – I realize I probably should have checked with you first about the girlfriend thing and about meeting them. I was just calling them to chat and check in, but my mother instantly heard something different in my voice and just wouldn't let it go. She's like a terrier with a slipper when it comes to things like that. Well, when it comes to everything, really."

"What did she hear in your voice? Were you gargling when you called them?"

Edward grins. "She heard you in my voice. She heard I was happy. You can't expect a mother, even one as distracted as mine usually is, to miss a change that big. You'll like her, Bella, I promise. I know they probably sound a little stiff and pokery, but they're both very smart and nice, and believe me when I tell you that my mother is thrilled about you. When I told her you were an English teacher, she practically shot into orbit. You don't have to tell her anything that you don't want to, though. And you certainly don't have to answer any of the dozens of questions she's likely to hurl in your direction at brunch. I'll help deflect them. It's a shame there are no stunt doubles for this kind of situation."

The week passes quickly, much like Alice and I pass each other when entering and exiting our lonely house, like commuters on the light rail of love. My classes are done for the summer semester, and this week is largely administrative in nature, making for long and boring days in the department offices. My nights are full of rehearsal and Edward, or Edward alone. Every day, he finds a new method of driving himself deeper and deeper into my heart, from little things like making sure he's got my favorite breakfast cereal in his house, to waking up early and taking my car over to the gas station to fill up the tank so I won't have to stop on my way to work. He sends me off with an apple for the teacher every day and calls me to tell me how many minutes it will be until he sees me again. And every day, I find a new reason to love him, from the way he closes his eyes when he listens to a piece of music so that he can really concentrate on it, to the way he can't fall asleep until he's got every inch of himself touching me somewhere. I'm sure I enjoyed life before I met Edward - I must have taken pleasure in a great number of things. But now that he's here, I can't imagine what was so great about living without him.

Saturday morning arrives, and Edward is working from five a.m. until three p.m. today in order to make the pool party. He's groggy when he wakes up, and we make brisk love in the purple light of dawn to get his blood pumping and shake the sleepy cobwebs from his head. By the time he's dressed and ready to leave, he's singing "I Am a Pirate King" from _The Pirates of Penzance_ at the top of his lungs while I offer the chorus lines, laughing at him from the bed. _Hurrah for the Pirate King_, indeed.

I take a quick shower and drive back to Forks to get ready for the party. Alice is trying to figure out whether it's wiser to wear flip-flops or espadrilles, a choice I will happily never have to make, as neither style of shoe is appropriate for a certified klutz like me. I slide into an old pair of white Birkenstocks, earning a raised eyebrow and a slight grimace from her. I know they look a touch orthopaedic, but they're reliable and I trust them implicitly.

We head over to Carlisle and Esme's house at about eleven to help get ready for the party, which starts at two. Esme's already flying around, setting up lawn chairs and dropping flower arrangements on small tables scattered all over the patio. I try to remind her that this is a casual gathering of our cast, but she won't hear a word I say and continues to Martha Stewart the proceedings. When it comes to entertaining, Esme apparently has only one operating speed, and that's full-speed, Jouett, damn the torpedoes.

The caterers arrive at one p.m. to set up several large mobile gas grills. They commandeer the barbeque pit at the corner of the patio area for the lobster bake, setting up a huge pot over the entire surface of the built-in grill and lining the bottom of the pot with seaweed. People are running everywhere with racks of glasses and stacks of dishes. It looks more like a wedding reception than a casual barbeque to me. Shortly thereafter, a four-piece bluegrass band arrives and begins setting up shop in the little gazebo off to the side of the patio.

"Al, this is just going to be the cast, right? Did your parents invite anyone else over today, like foreign heads of state or ambassadors or astronauts?"

Alice laughs. "I'm sure they invited a few of their friends as well. You know my mom lives for this kind of thing, and she's so excited to have us kids home that she'll celebrate it any chance she gets. Besides, it's not a party to her unless there are at least a hundred people invited. Fewer than that, and it's just a cozy family dinner."

People started drifting into the house at about two o'clock. I spot Banner loping toward us with a confused expression on his face, and I sympathize with the emotion. He's wearing baggy board shorts and a ratty Ramones t-shirt with a towel slung across his shoulders. He came for a casual, relaxing Saturday by the pool with his cast, and is presented instead with a full-fledged garden party.

"Hi Bella," he says, as he reaches me. "Uh, there's a valet out front parking cars. What exactly is going on here today?"

"Esme Cullen is what's going on today, Doug," I answer with a grin. "This is her idea of casual. I hope you brought your smoking jacket and velvet slippers."

The rest of the cast filters in, equally bewildered and stunned. Carlisle sidles up and tries to set them all at ease, letting them know that they should feel free to hang out and relax and try to ignore the fact that his wife is ruthlessly turning their quiet Saturday afternoon together into a print-worthy social event. "There's plenty of beer," he says helpfully. "Just go up to the bar whenever you like and one of the bartenders will be happy to get you anything you want."

Apparently, they don't need to be fed this information twice, as they race over to start the party as quickly as possible. The bluegrass band kicks into a set, and before a quarter of an hour as elapsed, the entire cast is spread out on poolside chaise lounges, reveling in the unexpected luxury of the afternoon.

A woman in an outrageous printed caftan drifts over to me. She's wearing a turban and full war-paint complete with enormous false eyelashes. "Darling," she breathes. "Are you one of the performers?"

I have no idea whether she's talking about the play or some kind of entertainment we're going to be treated to later on today, so I say, "I'm Beatrice," and I hope that will give her enough information to work with. She claps her hands and gives me a thoroughly frightening Norma Desmond face. "How fan_tas_tic! My husband George and I were in London on a theatre run this past spring, and we managed to see one of The Factory's _Hamlet_ performances. It was too much – they staged the play in an art gallery, and Hamlet killed Claudius with a turkey leg. A curried turkey leg," she clarifies, as though the fact that the turkey was spiced with curry somehow explains how one could murder a king with it. I'm jealous all the same, as I'm dying to see one of The Factory's performances – it sounds like a perfect blend of Rocky Horror, street punk, and Shakespeare.

Norma drifts away after a bit, and I find Alice standing next to me. "Where's Jasper?" I ask.

"He called a minute ago – he was just pulling into the driveway," she answers. "Have you met Aro yet? Come on, you have to see this guy. He's one of my mom's best friends."

Alice tugs on my arm and pulls me into the kitchen, where we see Esme standing next to a gaunt man with slicked-back hair and a teacup poodle under his right arm. We watch as he hands the poodle over to Esme, then grabs five crystal goblets from her china cabinet and casually begins to juggle them while he continues his conversation with her. Each of the glasses must be worth several hundred dollars, but Esme seems entirely at ease as she observes him tossing them up in the air and catching them again. As he's talking, he tosses a glass higher into the air to emphasize a point he's trying to make. Fear trickles down my spine as I watch it graze the kitchen ceiling and come spinning back down at an odd angle, but he catches it without looking and calmly continues to chatter.

Jasper saunters into the kitchen, giving Alice a little hug and a peck on her cheek. Esme spies the action in her peripheral view, and holds her finger up to Aro for a moment to excuse herself. He continues to juggle as she walks over to where the three of us are standing.

"Hello," she says warmly, holding her hand out to Jasper. "We haven't met yet. I'm Esme, Alice's mother."

Jasper opens his mouth to speak, but Alice is too quick for him. "Mom, this is Jasper. I love him," she announces, creating what should, under normal circumstances, be a situation rife with some fabulous parent/child tension. Such is not the case with this family, however, because all Esme does is glow like a roman candle and grasp his hand even more enthusiastically.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Jasper says, slightly off-balance but determined to do his best to make a good impression. "Alice here has told me so much about you, but she failed to mention where her all good looks came from."

Esme is instantly smitten. "Oooh, you're a southerner, are you?"

"Yes ma'am – born in Killeen, raised in Austin."

"I'm thrilled to meet you," she enthuses. "Tell me everything. Where did the two of you meet?"

Jasper explains that he teaches with me at the university, that I introduced them to each other, and that we're all working on the play together. Esme looks over at me and smiles a misty smile. "What a terrific story. Why haven't we seen you here before now? Alice?"

"Mom, we've only been seeing each other for a month. I didn't want to bring you into it until we knew how we felt about each other." Alice knew after two days, so I'm assuming she just wanted uninterrupted time with him before the family got involved.

"Well, we'll just have to make up for that lost time, won't we," Esme says. "Jasper, please come for dinner again tomorrow night. It'll just be family this time, no outsiders."

Aro's dog squirms under Esme's arm. "Oh goodness – Jasper, Bella, come say hello to Aro. He's one of my dearest friends, and practically an uncle to my children." We walk over to where Aro is still juggling crystal. Esme introduces Jasper and me, and Aro nods his head. Without missing a beat, he casually starts tossing wine goblets in Jasper's direction. Jasper's face freezes for a moment, but he catches the goblets easily, reflexively, and begins to juggle them back and forth with Aro. Apparently, Jasper is a full-on circus freak as well, and could not fit into this family more perfectly if he was purpose-built for the job.

Alice puts her arms around Esme's waist and sighs. "See? He's perfect, isn't he?"

I'm feeling a little superfluous, so I wander out to the front porch to wait for Edward. It's going on four o'clock, and I see him ambling over to me from the valet station at the top of the driveway. I realize that I've seen him naked on more than a few occasions now, but the sight of his long, muscular legs in khaki shorts just slays me. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt, a pair of ratty Sperry topsiders, and dark sunglasses, and he's got a blue towel rolled up underneath one arm. His hair glistens in the sunlight, a satellite sun on its own, blinding me and dazzling me.

"Hi there," he grins, as he takes the porch steps two at a time. "Sorry I'm late. Blood and guts, you know." He wraps an arm around me and gives me a kiss. "What's all the fuss about here? Looks like a major soiree instead of a little pool party, if you ask me."

"Alice's mother doesn't know how to do 'little' parties," I smile. "Have you ever met her?"

Edward shakes his head. "I saw her once when she came in to visit Carlisle, but I was never introduced."

Something just occurs to me. "Edward, does Carlisle know about us?"

"I haven't told him. I didn't think I needed to, as you're not actually related to him, right?"

"Well, it doesn't matter now, because he's about to find out for himself," I say. "Let's get it over with. Good practice for your parents, maybe."

We walk into the house with our arms around each other. Carlisle is in the living room, chatting with a gentleman in a very loud Hawaiian shirt. He looks up to see us and the space between his eyebrows creases slightly. Excusing himself from his conversation, he walks over to where we're standing and looks at Edward expectantly.

"Chief," Edward murmurs, holding out his hand.

"Edward," Carlisle smiles. "I didn't realize you and Bella knew each other."

"Yes sir. She's my girlfriend. We're in the play together, which is where we met."

"Ah, I see," Carlisle says. "Well, Edward, you should know that I'm as protective of Bella as I am of my own daughter, and I'm going to assume you understand that I act en loco parentis with regard to her well-being."

"I hope to give you no reason at all to go loco, parentis or otherwise, sir," Edward answers, tightening his grip on my waist. Carlisle nods his head at us and returns to his conversation with Don Ho.

We undergo a similar inspection and warning from Esme, although she's far more subtle about the matter. Aro has thankfully stopped juggling expensive barware, and is merely standing in the kitchen, stroking his teacup poodle like the canine side of Dr. No. After we've run the parental gauntlet, we meet up with Jasper and Alice and head outside to the pool to see what the rest of the cast are up to.

Jessica and Mike are now occupying the same chaise lounge. She's whispering something into his ear – it makes his toes curl, so I'm going to assume that what she's saying isn't fit for public consumption. Banner is deep in conversation with Norma Desmond, of all people. She is gesticulating wildly with a drink in her hand, occasionally slopping it on the patio stones as she enthuses about something. Banner hangs on her every word.

Pete and Bill, both fairly drunk at this point, have found a pair of Styrofoam pool noodles, and are fencing each other on the lawn. "Should we maybe break that up?" Edward asks. Jasper puts a hand on his arm. "No, man, let 'em go. Give the understudies a fair shot at the big time." The male genetic imperative, however, compels them to watch the fight and speculate on which noodle will reign supreme.

Out of nowhere, James creeps up beside me. "Hey, Bella," he purrs in my ear. "Nice to see you out of the basement for a change." I turn to look at him in surprise, because I don't think he's ever actually spoken to me before. His eyes are dark and his smile makes me very uncomfortable.

"Uh, hi, James. Glad you could make the party," I stammer out, not wanting to be rude, but sort of wishing he'd just go away. Don John is the villain of the play, and I think maybe I'm reading too much into the discomfort I feel around James as a result.

Edward notices that I'm not next to him, and quickly steps over to put his arm around my waist again. "James," he says evenly in acknowledgment, but it doesn't sound particularly friendly. He turns to look down at me. "Hungry yet? I hear it's open season on the lobster bake."

James looks from Edward to me and back again, then purses his lips and walks away without another word. We walk over to the grill, grab some plates, and each receive a healthy helping of lobster goodness with corn on the cob, potatoes, and onions. The catering staff has split the lobster tails for us, so all we have to do is get some forks and butter and have at it.

Jasper and Alice follow suit, and the four of us sit down near Banner, Ben, Angela, Jessica, and Mike. Jessica sees that we're eating, and so whines at Mike to go fetch a plate of food for her. I suspect she's promised him a favor or two later this evening, because he hops up to comply with the request a though his feet were on fire.

After we eat, we all lounge around in a circle to relax for a few moments before going for a swim. Banner suggests that we try to switch parts just to see how tough we all have it; he's brought a copy of the play to pass around. He switches our roles around for us – I am Benedick, Edward is Beatrice, Alice is Claudio, Jasper is Hero, Jessica is Don Pedro, Mike is Margaret, Angela is Leonato, and Ben is Ursula. Oh, I am _loving_ this. Jasper decides that Hero needs a lisp, so he gives her one. Alice's Claudio comes off like the king of the disco – she even bobs her head around and affects a swagger. Mike has no idea how to be a girl, so he plays Margaret in falsetto and coughs after every line. Ben and Angela are so cute; he actually asks her how he should play Ursula, and I can hear them strategizing between lines.

Edward presses his lips together at the sound of my Benedick. We're doing everything we can to break each other up during our scenes. I play Benedick as Edward; slightly confused and very dry, with a deep tenor to keep the sex in the mix. He gives me a Beatrice that's a true hellcat; I swear, if I'm even half the harpy he's showing me, I hate myself, because he's playing the part as Joan Collins on a hit of speed.

Our group attracts a bit of a crowd; Norma begs to give it a try, so Banner lets her play Dogberry. James steps up for Verges, and Carlisle manfully offers to be Don John. We've lost Pete and Bill – they're passed out next to the gazebo, so Esme stands in for Antonio, and Aro plays Borachio. Many of the rest of the guests float over as they hear us laughing at each other. We also need a Friar, so Aro hides behind his poodle and pretends the poodle is telling Leonato not to kill his slandered daughter.

The bluegrass quartet gets in on the action, providing banjo-laced musical accompaniment whenever something dramatic occurs. I note that banjo music is far less threatening than _Deliverance_ would have one believe – it just sounds comical from where I'm sitting.

We speed through the play despite the outbreaks of hysterical laughter. The catering staff is now standing around us as well. When we get to the second wedding scene, one of them helpfully provides two tablecloths for us to use as veils on Edward and Jasper. I don't get an opportunity to discuss this with Edward, but I'm sure he's thinking about the scene in _A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum_ in which Hysterium pretends to be The Bride.

Ben and Mike decide that this moment is a perfect time for a swim, so while Jasper and Edward are blinded by the tablecloths, Ben and Mike shove them into the pool. The rest of us jump into the pool as well to keep Jasper and Edward company, where we finish the play, fairly waterlogged, but having a blast all the same. Our audience applauds wildly, and we take bows as well as we're able to under the soggy circumstances.

We're just crawling out to dry off when I notice that Emmett and Rose are standing near the chaise lounges we vacated a while ago. I poke Alice to let her know her brother's here, then I toss some towels as Edward and Jasper, who quickly shake themselves like puppies in the surf before using them.

Edward's head emerges from under the towel as he hears Alice squeal her brother's name, and he freezes when he sees Emmett. He grabs Jasper by the shoulder and swivels him around, pointing in Emmett's direction but not saying a word. Jasper looks completely horrified, but when I look back at Emmett, Jasper's reaction is understandable. Emmett looks fit to commit a murder, and Rose isn't much happier.

Alice has launched herself at Emmett's chest, but he shakes her off and grabs her hand instead, dragging her over to where Jasper, Edward and I are standing. Alice starts to introduce them to him, but he cuts her off by holding his hand in the air.

"Shut up. Now. You four, come with me," he snaps. Without checking to see whether or not we obey, he turns on his heel and storms into the house. I have no idea what's upset him, but this is very unusual behavior for laid-back, easygoing Emmett. Alice is similarly confused, but we follow him inside. When I turn around to make sure the guys are following us, I see Rose herding them from behind.

We get inside the house, and Emmett is plowing down a hallway in the direction of the game room. When all six of us are finally assembled there, Rose closes the door and stands in front of it.

"Emmett," Alice growls. "What the hell is your problem?"

Emmett's hands are resting on the bumper of the large pool table in the center of the room. He finds a cue stick resting on the green felt surface and picks it up, holding the base in one hand and bouncing the lighter end against the palm of the other hand. He turns to face us, and I can see that he's beet red and very, very angry.

"Okay," he exhales, trying to regain his composure. "Before I say anything at all, I want you girls to go stand next to whichever one of these – these _gentlemen_ – you happen to be dating right now."

Thoroughly bewildered, Alice moves to stand next to Jasper, and I walk over to Edward's side.

"Right," Emmett says. "Now I know who to kill first."

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	14. A round unvarnished tale

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A round unvarnished tale

EPOV

_Holy shit._

I have never been in a brawl of any kind; I've never actually thrown a punch. It's not that I don't think I can, and it's not that I've never been angry enough to do it – it's just that I know how much work it takes to set broken bones and treat fractured skulls, and I've never found anything worth creating that kind of bother for another doctor to fix. Aside from Bella. I'd break bones for her in a heartbeat and not think twice about it. My bones, or someone else's. Doesn't matter which.

From the looks of him, Emmett's thrown more than a few punches in his time. He's probably filled a few ERs with the victims of his temper. I really don't want to be one of them, because I like Emmett a lot, and because I can't imagine Carlisle would be too happy about it, and because getting into a fight with Emmett would create an even larger pile of shit for me to fix with Bella. There's already a mountain between us as it is. I desperately want to grab her hand and hold on tight, but I can't even look at her. If I look at her and see that she's upset with me or sad, it will kill me. I know it's coming, and I deserve to deal with it because I put off telling her the truth about who I was. Stupid. But I just can't look in her direction, and keep my eyes focused instead on Emmett.

He points the pool cue he's holding at Jasper, motioning with it for him to move away from Alice. Jasper obeys the pool cue and the person holding it, and takes two large steps away from Alice's side. Alice has an immediate issue with the behavior, and starts to follow him, but Jasper shakes his head at her and tells her to stay where she is. Rose moves away from the door and grabs Alice by the shoulders, pulling her further to the side and out of harm's way.

"Seriously, Em, what the hell is wrong with you?" Alice is clearly outraged. "You don't even KNOW these guys! Is this about sex? It's not as though you don't know I have sex, right? I mean, you must know that, even if you don't want to acknowledge it, and it's none of your business anyway. I'm a grown woman, not a little kid. And as for Bella -"

She's interrupted by the door bursting open, and into the room tumble Mike and Jessica. Jessica's giggling, and Mike has his arms wrapped around her hips. "Mike!" she shrieks. "Can't you wait until-" They both stop short as they see us in our intriguing tableau.

"Uh," Mike says. "Uhm, sorry. Didn't, uhm…yeah." He's at a loss, and who can blame him? Emmett's still got the pool cue pointed at Jasper's face, Rose is holding Alice back, I probably look like Mr. Tumnus after the White Witch gets her hands on him, and Bella…well, I don't know what Bella looks like right now, but I'm sure it's not happy. Mike shifts his eyes around for a moment, then quickly pulls Jessica back out through the door and shuts it behind them.

"Lock that thing," Emmett snarls at Rose.

Rose raises her eyebrows at him, because apparently you don't speak to her that way if you'd like to keep your limbs attached to your body. "There's no lock, Einstein. This is a game room, not a bathroom or a bank vault. And it's only your house, so you should know that."

"Forget about the stupid door! I want to know what right you have to be freaking out like this!" Alice stomps her foot.

"Can it, Alice," advises Rose. "Let him handle this."

"Emmett, I had no idea. Believe me, if I had known, I never would have – I mean, I don't go around just talking about…you know," Jasper says, holding his hands up in a silent plea.

"You think that makes it okay? Do you really think I'm cool with it now? I don't give a shit if you-"

The door opens yet again, and this time, Banner walks in, followed by Bill, Pete and Ben.

"Excuse me," Doug starts, with an edge to his voice. "I don't know who you are, but Jasper's a friend of mine, and I don't like the way you're pointing that stick at him."

That's all it takes to rile Emmett back up. "Why would I give a flying fuck whether you like it or not? This is _my_ house!"

"Even if you don't know which doors have locks on them and which don't," Rose mutters, because she can't help herself.

The noise rapidly attracts more people to the door, and before I've had a chance to blink, we're joined by James and Angela, and Mike and Jessica make a return visit as well.

"What's going on?" Angela whispers to Ben.

"No clue," Ben answers. "Stand over there behind the couch, though, just in case."

The lady in the turban who played Dogberry when we were out on the patio sticks her head through the doorway. "Darlings!" she cries, floating over to us. "Are you doing another play in here? May I join you again? I'll take any role, I'm not choosy in the least."

"For the love of Christ, will someone – ANYONE – shut the damn door!" Emmett screams.

Turban lady puts her hand on Jessica's back. "Oooh, he's very good, isn't he? I absolutely _believe_ he's furious. I _feel_ the rage in him. Such conviction."

Esme Cullen and the guy with the little dog are next through the doorway. "Emmett, what on _earth_ are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Doug, Bill, and James whispering to each other. I have no idea what they're planning over there, but if they're thinking about taking Emmett on, they're going to need the help of everyone in this room including the little dog, because theatre guys aren't generally renowned for their deadly skill in hand-to-hand combat.

"Mom, stay out of this. It's between me and these two assholes," Emmett spits.

"Take that back, Em," Alices says, in a dangerously quiet voice. "Take it back. Now."

"Emmett Cullen, these two boys are guests in my house. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I want you to apologize this instant for your behavior."

"I'm not apologizing. Forget it. This one over here was just yakking to a total stranger _in a bar_ about what a great lay my sister is. And _that_ one, next to Bella, is a scumbag who likes to pretend he's a character in a freaking movie when he's with a woman because that's how he gets his kicks. Think I want either one of them anywhere near Alice or Bella? Do you honestly think I want to see Alice with some guy who treats her like an inflatable sex toy and then brags to strangers about it? Do you honestly think I want Bella with some guy who's just gonna mess with her head again?"

And there it is. There's the end of everything great in my life, right there, in that speech. I don't blame Emmett, though. I blame myself. In Emmett's shoes, I'd have done the exact same thing, although I probably wouldn't have been waving a pool cue while I did it, because I don't even have the guts to crack somebody's skull open.

While Emmett was talking, Bill and James were creeping up behind him, I assume in an effort to grab him and take away the pool cue. Bill's not watching where he's going, because he's got his eyes trained on Emmett and he's still probably a little drunk from earlier this afternoon. He trips over his own feet and falls into James, who crashes into the pool table. Emmett hears the noise and whips his body around, accidentally smashing the lighter end of the cue stick into the right side of James' face.

"Fuck! My eye!" James yells, grabbing his face and falling down on the floor. He's writhing around in agony, and I have to forget everything that's just happened to go deal with the situation, because suddenly he's a patient and I'm a doctor, and that's the first priority.

The room explodes into a babble of noise and voices. Carlisle comes running in, and, seeing James on the floor and Emmett with a stick in his hand, he's naturally got a few questions.

I ignore everybody and just focus on the task at hand. "James, let me take your hand away so I can see your eye," I say calmly. He's got his hand locked over his face and I have to pry his fingers away one by one, but eventually, he lets me take a look. I gently feel around the eye socket, and there doesn't appear to be any break, although I can't say for certain whether or not he's got a fracture to the zygoma or the sphenoid – I'd need to get him to x-ray to make sure. The frontal bone appears completely unimpacted. "Can you open your eye for me, James?"

He slowly lifts the lid. His pupil dilates appropriately. He has a subconjunctival hemorrhage but that won't cause any lasting complications. I suspect he's shortly going to be sporting one hell of a shiner too, but it could have been much worse. "Great. Now close your good eye and keep the other one open. Can you see me with the eye that was hit?" He nods his head. "Well, it's possible that you have a fracture in one of your facial bones, but I don't think you do. You might want to come along with me to the hospital to check it out anyway, just in case. Your eye seems fine – the pupil is reactive and normal. Your vision is probably a little blurry due to the blood vessel you burst in your eye, but the blurriness isn't permanent. Do you think you can sit up now?"

James slowly lifts himself into a sitting position, with me holding my hand on his back to steady him.

"That's great," I say. "Would you like an ice pack for your eye? I'm sure it hurts like a mother."

"Yeah," James nods, once more covering his eye with his hand. "Ice would be great, thanks."

The sound around me starts filtering back into my ears now that I know he's not in any immediate danger. I look up to see that Carlisle and Emmett are walking over to where we're sitting.

"Edward?" Carlisle says my name, but the question is really about James.

"No apparent fractures to the zygoma or spheroid, and no frontal involvement. Subconjunctival hemorrhage. Pupils normal and reactive," I say, repeating what I've discovered in my exam. "I saw the hit, and it was clean – nothing on the neck and there wasn't enough force in the movement to cause damage to the spinal cord. Just the face."

"Thank you. We should get him to the hospital anyway – I want to run him through x-ray and maybe CAT to make sure there's no damage." He flips open his cell phone to call the ER desk for an ambulance.

Emmett's face is the picture of remorse as he looks down at James. "Man, I'm so, so sorry," he says. "That was a total accident." James waves him off, not wanting to get into things right now. I look around for Esme to see if she'll bring me some ice in a towel, but I can't see her in the crowded room. As I'm looking around, I feel a tap on my left shoulder.

"Can I help?" Bella asks softly.

Now I have no choice, so I turn my head to look up at her. She looks calm, but her eyes are unreadable. "I'd like to get him an ice pack, if possible. Just a few cubes in a towel or dishcloth would be great," I tell her. She nods and leaves the room.

Emmett's still standing in front of us. "I'm really pissed at you, Edward," he says.

"I know," I answer. And I do. I mean, I get it. I wish I didn't – I wish I could somehow prove to him that I'm not that person anymore, that I'm a real boy now, but I don't see why he'd care anyway. And the truth is that I'm not really worried one way or the other what Emmett thinks of me. I only care about what Bella thinks, and he can't answer that question, so there's no point in going over it with him.

"If you hurt her – if you fuck around with her head – I promise you now that I'll find you, and I won't need a stick of any kind to make you sorry. She's a good girl, and I've got her back. Remember it. And I hate that I'm having this conversation with you at all, because I like you, dude. I really do. But these girls are my girls, and you need to step off if you're not planning on doing right by her. When I think about the fact that I was actually helping you out here, I wanna hurl," he grimaces, then walks back to where Alice, Jasper, and Esme are standing, presumably to vent more spleen in that direction.

Bella comes back into the room; she's carrying a makeshift ice pack consisting of a cloth napkin and a small Ziploc bag full of ice. She hands them over to me – I wrap the Ziploc bag in the napkin and place it over James' eye. When I'm sure he's got a grip on it himself, I let go and stand up, reaching down my hand to help him to his feet as well. "Come on," I say. "I'll walk you out front to wait for the ambulance. Dr. Cullen wants you to head over to the hospital to make sure nothing's broken."

James and I make our way out of the game room and down the hallway, through the kitchen and the living room and out the front door to the porch, where we sit on the wicker chairs there to wait for his ride. I'll go with him to make sure everything's okay – I should examine the films as soon as he's done in x-ray, because I'm sure Carlisle will be calling me to find out whether or not he sustained any serious injury. I keep a close eye on him as he's sitting next to me; he seems fine and stable, but the head is a tricky piece of machinery, and I'm watching to make sure that he's not drifting off or showing any signs of a bigger issue than a black eye and a bad headache.

"You've been really great, Edward. Thanks," he says softly.

"No problem," I answer. "Sorry you got caught in the middle of the unscripted drama back there."

As we're sitting there, people start to filter out of the house and back to their cars. Banner walks past us, giving me a small but warm smile. "Call me if you want to talk," he says. I nod and wish him a good night. The rest of the cast comes out shortly thereafter, except for Bella, Alice, and Jasper. They're looking at me, but none of them seems to be doing so in a particularly unfriendly or unsympathetic fashion. They call out to James, hoping that he's all right and that he'll be back at rehearsal on Tuesday.

Turban lady drifts out with a short, balding man in her wake. "Darling, you were spectacular," she enthuses. "You could be a real doctor, you're that convincing." I have to smile at that, and I wish her a good night.

Carlisle walks out to meet us just as the ambulance is pulling up. I stand and start to guide James over to the wagon, but Carlisle puts his hand on my arm to stop me. "Edward, I'm going to go along with James – I want to see the films for myself. No offense to you whatsoever; it was my son who caused the injury, and I can't be comfortable until I know for sure that everything is alright." I nod my head and tell James to take care of himself; he smiles at me strangely, but follows alongside Carlisle to the waiting EMTs.

I should probably go back inside and make sure Jasper's okay too, but instead, I sit back down on the wicker chair and stare out across the front lawn. It's twilight now. I've been up for almost seventeen hours, worked a busy shift, performed an unfamiliar role in one of my favorite plays, taken a swim, been threatened with bodily injury, and possibly lost the only woman I have ever or will ever love through my own cowardice and stupidity. All in all, it's been a very long day, and I'm finding it hard to gather the necessary energy to stand up again and locate my car. So I'm just sitting here, trying not to think, trying to find a reason to get up and leave.

Suddenly, Bella is standing next to me. I didn't even hear her approach, but here she is. Without a word, she sits down in the chair recently vacated by James and stares out at the front lawn with me. I don't know what to say to her. I have no idea what she'd like to hear from me now, if she even wants to hear anything at all. Maybe she just wants to yell at me, which is fair. She gave me the absolute truth about herself and I held back, afraid to let her see me until I'd proven to her that that was then and this is now, and things are so very different from the way they used to be.

I don't know how long we sit there in silence together, staring into the gloam. Every part of me absolutely aches to reach across the short distance between our two chairs and just touch her, just feel her there, tangible proof that she has mass and isn't what I fear will become some kind of constant, shadowy figment of my imagination, frustratingly close and yet impossible to claim. And because she is now and likely always will be braver than I am, she bridges the distance for me, reaching out to touch the back of my hand where it rests on the arm of the chair. I let out a deep breath and turn over my hand to hold hers.

"I wish that hadn't happened," she says, simply, and more than a little bit sadly. "I wish you'd told me yourself."

"I'm really sorry, Bella. I know you have no reason whatsoever to believe anything I say right now, but I hope you can at least believe that. There is nothing in the world I want less than to hurt you in any way."

"I believe you. Or, at least, I want to believe you, so I will," she sighed. "I do want to hear it all from you, though. Your story. Your side. If you think you're ready to tell me now."

Grateful beyond words for the opportunity to even explain myself, I tell her everything. Every girl in Chicago, everything about Tanya, every reason I had for leaving and finding someplace else to be while I figured out who I was. I tell her about how I keep things separated in my head when we're performing in the play, and how I constantly check myself to make sure that what I am telling her is the truth, because I don't want to offer her anything less than that.

She listens to everything, nodding occasionally but not speaking until I pause. "And when we – when you and I are – when we're together…?" She trails off and it takes a moment for my tired brain to process the question and read the implication behind it. I have to tell her about Jack Nicholson now, too, so I do.

"Never since the first time, and that was only at the very beginning, I think because I was so surprised that you were actually willing to, you know, go there with me. But the minute we were in bed together, everything changed, and it's been all me ever since," I finish. Now she knows that it's even possible for this to happen with her, despite my best efforts to avoid it. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'm really, truly sorry," I say again.

"Edward, you're asking me to believe you when you tell me that it's so different with me, but can you see how difficult that might be? I mean, I tell you that _The Philadelphia Story_ is my favorite movie, and now I'm just supposed to buy that you're this perfect mash-up of Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant by accident? It doesn't seem very likely," she shakes her head, sounding slightly angry.

"I'm not doing anything intentionally, I swear. At least, I don't think I am," I answer, because I'm not sure of anything at the moment. I suddenly don't know who I am, and it's more terrifying than anything I've ever experienced before. What if I'm just lying to myself along with lying to her?

"Come on, Edward. You're every bit as lovely, and sweet, and awkward as Jimmy at his peak, and you say things to me that sound so earnest and sincere that they make me want to quit my life and follow you around every minute of the day. And then – well, just _look_ at you, for crying out loud," she gestures, moving her hand up and down in the air next to my body. "And you're funny, and smart, and you get inside my head and finish my thoughts before I've even formed them. It's as though I'm a script you've read in advance, so you know just when to say what you need to say to move the story along, and just when to do something to make me react the way you want me to. It's not normal, and it scared me to death even before I knew all of this about you. Now…" she trails off, and it's clear that she's really not sure who I'm trying to be any more than I am.

"See, what worries me isn't who you're being now," she continues after a moment. "What worries me is who you'll become if you wake up one morning and decide you're sick of who you're being now. I won't know that person at all, and I probably wouldn't want to," she says sadly. "And as for who you were before I met you - all those women, Edward. You Hemingwayed them. They were just plot devices to you too. Even if they were just one-night stands, that's bad enough, but then Tanya. Oh, my God, Edward. Didn't you stop for one minute to think about what your behavior must have done to her?"

"I know," I groan, closing my eyes and shaking my head. "Bella, it started out as a game, and _I just wasn't thinking_, and before I knew it, people were getting hurt. It's why I left. Because whoever I am, I know I'm NOT someone who wants to hurt people. If I could go back and erase it all, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I can't. All I can do is try to figure out why it happened and never let it happen again. And I'm scared shitless that you think I'm someone like Jake, who'd just pull this kind of stunt for kicks or sex and not care about the consequences."

"I don't think you're like Jake, Edward."

"Really not?"

"Really not. I don't know who you are yet, but you're not that guy."

"Thank you," I tell her. It's the best thing I've heard in what feels like hours.

"Don't thank me yet. There's still a very good chance you could turn out to be much, much worse than he ever dreamt of being," Bella smiles, but I realize she's only half-joking about that.

I can't stand not knowing what she's thinking for one more second, so I have to ask the question I'm dreading. I'm still holding her hand, and I squeeze it even tighter now because I'm afraid she's going to take it away from me and I don't want – I just can't bear her to. "Bella? Where does this leave, you know, us, now? Are you – will you give me a chance to show you that you can trust me?"

_Please say you'll give me a chance to prove myself to you, Bella. Whoever myself is, I know this one thing beyond any doubt at all: he loves you and he doesn't want to live without you._

Bella looks down at our knotted hands in the space between us and bites her lip, considering the matter. It's hard as hell not to just grab her and drag her away from this porch. I want to lock her up in my house and not let her out until I've worn her down into agreeing to be with me forever, even though that kind of capitulation is hardly an ideal thing upon which to build a good relationship. But even as I'm sitting here, waiting for her to speak, I realize that there is no way on earth I'm letting her get rid of me. I don't care what I have to do - I'm going to do it, and she's just stuck with me.

She sighs again. "Anything I do at this point is going to hurt."

I put my other hand over our joined hands. "Oh, Bella, I wish I could say that I'm going to offer you a choice, here, but I can't say I'm going to do that, because it wouldn't be the absolute truth. The absolute truth is that when it comes to you, I'm my mother's son – I'm a terrier, and you're a slipper. I said I was going to chase you into the ground, and I wasn't kidding about that. Plus, you know, I'm quite a strong runner, and you're propulsionally challenged. You'll trip eventually, and I'll be right there when you do."

Her lips twitch. "You really are a bit of an arrogant jackass, Edward, even if you don't know that about yourself."

And here I have to shake my head at her, because that's just not true. "I'm a persistent jackass. I thought we already covered this ground in an earlier discussion."

Bella's eyes meet mine, and in them, I see hesitation, and a challenge, and also a plea. "Figure out who you really are. Make things right. And please, be quick about it."

"I will. I will. And I will," I promise, addressing each part of her last statement. "And I'm going to start right now by telling you that who I am is someone who's planning to kiss you in the next five seconds." I lean over to her, meaning to give her a light and sweet kiss to thank her and to let her know that the game is afoot, but I discover another fact about myself: when it comes to Bella, I'm completely incapable of middling gestures of affection. I twist myself out of my chair and swing my body over to follow my lips until I'm half-crouching down in front of her as she sits. And then I give her the kind of kiss that tells her she's going to need a crowbar and a blowtorch to fight me off. Because she is.

Bella puts her hands on my shoulders and gently pushes herself away from me. "I need to go," she says breathlessly. "I have to go help Alice."

I hold my hands out to her to help her out of the chair. "Is Jasper still alive?"

She nods. "It's ugly, though. Alice and Emmett aren't speaking to each other, and Emmett doesn't want Jasper in the house. When I left them, Esme was standing between the two of them, trying to broker a peace deal. I'm assuming you were there when Jasper told Emmett whatever it was he told him. Can you tell me what it was? It'd be helpful to hear it from someone other than the two of them."

"I can absolutely see why Emmett's upset, but Bella, Jasper didn't say anything bad about Alice, I swear. All he said was that they kind of fell into bed with each other a day after they met, and that they'd been having the most incredible sex ever since, and that she was a real sweetheart and the best thing that's ever happened to him. And you know Jasper – he didn't mean anything sleazy by it. He's crazy about her."

"How on earth did you two end up talking to Emmett, anyway?"

"I met him in the bar across the street from the hospital a few weeks ago, right after you and I first met at rehearsal. I was trying to figure out how the hell I could approach you and be normal about it, and he offered me some advice. Jasper and I met him again the weekend you two went to LA, in the same bar, and that's when Jasper told him about Alice."

Now she's curious. "What kind of advice did Emmett give you?"

"He told me I was totally lacking attitude, and if I wanted you to notice me that I should swagger a little and be a bit of a jackass. So the next time I saw you at rehearsal, that's just what I did."

"Oh my God – he was responsible for that? Edward, all you had to do was talk to me. Believe me, I already noticed you plenty. Noticing you was never an issue."

"Really? Well I didn't know that, did I? He seemed to know what he was talking about, and I was desperate, so I listened to him."

"Emmett and Rose met when they were freshmen in high school. He's operating on the principles that work for a fifteen-year old, not an adult."

"What the hell do I know about anything? I thought I needed to, you know, flirt with you. Emmett said that all women like to be kept a little bit on edge."

"You didn't put me on edge, Edward – you sent me screaming off a cliff. It took the combined efforts of Jasper and Alice to keep me from hyperventilating and running off to a new town under an assumed name. Seriously, you scared the crap out of me."

"I had no idea. I thought it was what you wanted, so I did it. I'd never actually _tried_ to get a girl to notice me before you. Back in Chicago, Eric was always the one who went out and found the women. I just kind of sat there and took up space, generally wishing I was home watching a movie instead of someplace loud and crowded. And then when Eric would bring the women over, it's not as though I was being myself anyway, so the subject never came up until I met you."

Bella closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Tragic. You're really a little tragic, Edward. I thought _I_ was a dating spazz, but I'm minor league compared to you."

"I'm a late bloomer. But I plan on making a really strong finish," I grin.

"Go home and get some sleep. You look exhausted." She brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead, and the action is so sweet and full of concern for me despite everything I've just put her through that it's all I can do not to blurt out how much I love her right then and there. But I know I need to wait for that, because it won't mean anything to her until I can show her exactly who I am first.

I pull her close to me and give her a hug instead. "You're not coming over tonight." I say it instead of asking it, because I already know it's the truth. And I despise this truth that I've caused with my sins of omission and my dysfunction.

"No, I'm not," she confirms quietly.

I sigh and hold her to me even more tightly. "I hate that you're not coming over."

"I can't, Edward. And it's not that I don't want to, because I do – I really do. But I just can't. Please don't push me." She's sad, and confused, and I'm the cause. It kills me. I'm going to fix this, or die trying.

"I won't. I know. I'll make it right, I swear I will," I promise her. "I miss you."

That makes her laugh. "I'm right here, silly. I haven't gone anywhere."

"I know. I'm just saying it now because I'll be saying it all night, and you won't be there to hear it."

She gives me a little squeeze and then loosens her arms, signaling that it's time for the hug to end. I let her go, and she steps back a little. The free space between us is paradoxically my prison cell, full of need and ache. "Go home, Edward. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll call you in the morning."

"I'd like that. But by morning, you know I mean after 10 AM," she says, and grins, and then I can see that something occurs to her. "Oh, hey – is James going to be okay? That was some kind of hit he took."

"He'll be fine, I think – nothing seems to be broken. He'll have a hell of a headache and a fantastic black eye, though. He gave me the strangest look when Carlisle was taking him out to the ambulance. There's something a little – I don't know – creepy about him."

Bella nods her head. "I know! He gave me a creepy look earlier when we were at the pool. I thought I was reading too much into it because he's playing Don John, but it's weird that you saw it too."

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't think I've spoken more than ten words to him in all the time we've been rehearsing, so I don't know what his problem could be."

"Let me get back inside to Alice. Is it alright with you if I tell her what you told me about Jasper's conversation with Emmett?"

"Of course."

"Okay, then. Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight, Bella. I miss you again, for later." Bella smiles and turns to go back into the house. I realize that I left my towel in there, but I don't feel like going back inside, because it might look to Bella as though I'm not giving her any kind of space and that might tick her off. I can live without the towel, but I don't want to live without Bella, so I walk down the steps and head toward the valet guy to retrieve my car. I've got to work out a way to show her who I am. The only way I can see to do that is to figure out who I was before I met her, before Eric and Chicago, before this became so important, and then trace the line forward to today.

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**A/N – **So now it's all out in the open, and Edward's got to find a way to tell Bella who he is. At least nobody died, and James got a nice whack in the face, so it's not a total loss, yes? Please review if you have a moment – even if you find you must hit me with a pool cue, I'll take what you have to say with good grace!


	15. What a piece of work is man

# # #

What a piece of work is man

BPOV

Quite literally, the last place on earth I want to be right now is in the game room of the Cullen residence. I love everyone in that room, but they constitute the ingredients for a massive headache at the moment, and what little strength I have is concentrated on trying to keep myself from following Edward's car down the freeway in a chase scene that Popeye Doyle would applaud.

As I walk back toward the tangled mess in the game room, all of my thoughts are on Edward – on what he's told me about himself and how I feel about him now that I know. The truth, if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, is that Edward can kill me with the persona of his choice at this point. I might run in the opposite direction from him as hard as I can, as quickly and as completely as I can, but I will never be able to run away from what he's done to my heart and my head. He's engraved on both forever now, even if the worst case scenario comes true and what's engraved there is a lie. I'm stained by the invisible ink of my love for him, a blank sheet of human ruined for any other man.

Sighing, I push open the door to the game room. Everyone is pretty much right where I left them when I walked out to find Edward: Esme and Alice ranged against Emmett; Jasper standing off to one side, refusing to leave until he has some assurance that Alice will be alright; Rose leaning up against the pool table, cool and observant, arms crossed in front of her; Aro and the poodle pacing a slow and meaningless circle around the couch.

I make my way over to stand next to Emmett. He's much calmer now, but I can see the mulish set to his mouth as he yet again informs his mother that Jasper has no business in this house.

"Emmett, I understand that you're upset," Esme repeats, as though she's talking to a stubborn child. "But the fact remains that your sister is a grown woman, and I have complete faith in her ability to choose her friends and lovers without any interference from either you or her parents."

"_Thank_ you, mom," Alice says as she glares at Emmett. "I wouldn't be with Jasper if I thought for one moment he was disrespectful or capable of behaving in anything less than an appropriate manner."

I put my hand on Emmett's shoulder. "I asked Edward to tell me exactly what Jasper said when the three of you were talking in the bar, Emmett," I add. "I've known Jasper for longer than anyone in this room, and I hope you believe me when I tell you that he's not the sort of person who would just take advantage of Alice or anything that happened between them and then laugh about it behind her back. He wouldn't even tell _me_ what happened when they were alone. I love Alice too, you know, and I'd never introduce her to someone who was going to hurt her like that."

"I know what I heard," Emmett insists. "And what I heard wasn't something I'd want anyone to be saying to a stranger in a bar about my sister. Or you. Or any woman I care about."

"He juggles," Aro states, taking a brief pause from his endless circuit around the couch. "And Dionysus likes him, don't you my love," he murmurs, stroking the poodle. "I can't imagine why you need any higher recommendation than that."

"Aro, darling, I don't think you're helping," Esme laughs, then turns back to Emmett, reassembling her features into a more serious expression. "I'm not telling you that you need to like Jasper, sweetheart. You're perfectly entitled to think whatever you choose to about him. But I trust Alice's judgment, and as long as Jasper is a guest in this house and a friend of Alice's, I expect you to treat him with civility, at the very least."

"I can't promise you that, ma," Emmett says through gritted teeth. "So if you're not going to ban him from the house, maybe it's best if I just steer clear of here for a while."

I can see Jasper's horrified at the prospect that he's now going to be responsible for breaking up the family. "No, Emmett, that wouldn't be right at all. If you just can't have me around, then I won't be around. I'm not going to be the cause behind you staying away from your family's home."

Rose has had enough. She bumps her rear end off the pool table, stands straight, and saunters over to our little group. "That's it. Emmett, look at me," she commands, and Emmett swings his head around to face her. "You and Jasper are going to spend the night together at our place. I'm going home with Alice and Bella. We'll meet up for breakfast tomorrow morning at 10 AM, at the diner on Oak Street." Emmett opens his mouth to voice his vehement objection to the scheme, but Rose shoves her palm into his face to silence him. "Stifle it. You heard me, and I'm not going to waste my breath repeating it. Hash it out and we'll get together tomorrow morning to see how well you did. My advice is to get a little drunk – it'll make things easier on both of you."

I look over at Jasper, who looks pretty terrified by the entire scheme. I don't blame him. What's to stop Emmett from locking the door to his house and inflicting hours of painful torture on the poor guy?

Rose is ahead of me, apparently. She stands on her toes, putting her face up so close to Emmett's that their noses are touching, and bares her supernaturally white, pointed teeth at him. "So help me God, if you touch one hair on his head, you'll wish you'd never been born." I watch, fascinated, as Emmett, who is easily a foot taller than she is and a good hundred pounds heavier, simply scrunches his face up and nods obediently. Rose is seriously scary, and I wish I knew how she does what she does, because I'd rule the planet with that kind of power. She whispers something in his ear, too low for me to catch, but I can see that she's surreptitiously grasped his testicles with her left hand, shielding the view from the rest of the room with her body. His eyes go wide and he nods again.

She steps back and looks at Alice and me. "I don't want to go all the way home to pick up spare clothes. Tell me you have something that will fit me and that's cute." We both nod, not really sure if anything we own is going to pass muster, but not wishing to disagree or debate the matter with her at all. "Good. We're gone. Jasper, I don't know you. You're only worth the trouble to me because of Alice over here. Screw up, and I won't be happy. I'll be waiting by your car, Alice. Five minutes." And without another word, she turns on her heel and exits the room.

"Esme, poor Dionysus just wee'd himself, and I'm afraid I'm not far behind," Aro complains. "That girl is a viper."

"You have _no_ idea," Emmett responds, completely cowed. "Okay, Jasper. Fuck. Look, I don't want to do this any more than you do, believe me. But you heard her. Let's move. I won't hit you, I swear. I might talk about doing it a lot, but I won't hit you. I've got a ton of beer and some Jack at the apartment – that should be enough to see us through this."

Jasper looks over at Alice, as if to ask her whether he should make a quick call to ensure that any life insurance premiums in his name are paid up and current. She nods her head at him encouragingly. "Go on, it's safe. Emmett would never, ever do something to make Rose mad. It's just not a smart move, a lesson he learned the hard way several times."

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs, and in that instant, I know Jasper really loves Alice. He's willing to spend the night alone with a man who waved a pool cue in his face and threatened to kill him, all because she told him it was something he should do. Alice gives him a quick and reassuring kiss and murmurs that she'll see him at breakfast tomorrow. Esme is plainly delighted by the turn of events, and hugs both guys as though they're going away to some fabulous summer camp for a few weeks, telling them to take care and have fun.

They leave. Alice and I look at each other and decide that neither one of us wants to keep Rose waiting, so we'd better hustle ourselves out to the car as well. "Goodnight, Esme. And thank you so much again for – well, for the party," I finish lamely, not entirely sure how much I should be elaborating on what's happened here tonight or whether thanks are in order for anything beyond the shindig elements of the goings-on. She beams at me and links her arm through Aro's. "You girls have a nice slumber party," she smiles. "Come, Aro. Let's see if we can tempt Dionysus with some leftover lobster."

"Al, I'm a little scared of Rose," I admit as we're walking out to meet her. "I mean, I really like her, but I'm a little scared too."

Alice shakes her head at me. "Rose is great, I promise. This should be fun – she can read people in a split second and is fantastic at giving advice."

I think about the advice Edward received from Emmett, and decide that anything I hear from either side of that particular relationship will be processed with more than a few grains of salt.

We pile into Alice's Porsche and drive back to our house. I am cramped in the ridiculous excuse for a backseat, because it hadn't even occurred to me to see if Rose would suffer the indignity herself. When we get back home, Alice races up our front steps to unlock the house and throw open the door. Rose walks in and promptly settles herself on the smaller of our two living room couches, curling her impossibly long legs up underneath her and placing one slender, graceful arm along the armrest.

"Popcorn. Blankets. Wine," she intones, and we scurry to fill the orders. We reconvene in the living room with all the supplies, having only paused to change out of our bathing suits and into something more appropriate for an epic bull session among females. Alice and I settle ourselves on the larger couch with a bowl of popcorn between us. Rose has her own bowl, because our thinking is that she's not much of a sharer.

Rose sips her chardonnay thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Okay, you two, here's my take on this: I'm pretty pissed off about the fact that they were flapping their gums about you in public, so I get why Emmett's ticked about it, but I think Jasper and Edward are probably decent enough as men go. I watched them pretty carefully tonight, and I don't get a dickhead vibe from either one of them. Believe me, I'd know. Emmett just got the wrong idea about them because he met them in a bar and it's a universal fact that people in bars, and most particularly men in bars, lose their minds and do and say stupid, fucked-up things. Am I right?"

"Exactly," Alice breathes, thrilled that Rose has assessed the situation in Jasper's favor. "Honestly, Rose, he's not the kind of guy who'd be spreading that information around."

Rose looks at me, and she is a Sphinx. "And Edward?" Like the Sphinx, will she kill me if I'm unable to answer her riddle?

I just tell her what I know. "He told me that he just had no idea how to approach me, and that's why he asked Emmett for advice. I want to believe he's for real. I think he is. I'm pretty sure he is. And it doesn't matter anyway, because I love him and I don't want whoever he is to go away. He says he plans to keep after me until I give in."

"That's promising," she approves. "I have the details of these conversations from Emmett. It would be helpful if I had another perspective. Bella, Edward told you what Jasper said, right? Can you tell me?"

"Edward said that Jasper just told Emmett he and Alice had fallen into bed with each other about a day after they met, and that the sex was incredible, and that she was the best thing that's ever happened to him."

Rose ponders this. "There must have been something else, though, because Emmett's pretty wound up. Maybe he thought Jasper meant that she was only the best thing that's ever happened to him in bed."

"I'm sure that's not what he meant, though," says Alice. "We're totally simpatico on every level. If it was just sex, my palms wouldn't sweat every time I hear you say his name."

"Okay, first of all? Gross," Rose shudders. "And secondly, what do you guys do when you get out of bed?"

There's silence. Crickets. Alice looks as though she doesn't understand the question.

"Al," I say gently, "Are you and Jasper ever actually _out_ of bed when you're together?"

"Well, of course we are. I mean, we have to eat, and take showers, and stuff, and you've seen us at rehearsal," she says defensively. "But mostly when we're together, there's not a whole lot of time left over for, you know, other things."

Rose nods her head. "Yeah, that could be a problem right there. You two should get out more. Do you at least talk when you're together?"

"Well, we do, but we don't really have to, because I already know everything he's thinking before he says it," Alice answers, as though this should be obvious. "And he makes me happy. Really happy. I just know he's the one, and it's not exactly as though he's the first guy I've ever been with, so I have some basis for comparison. There's just this crazy connection between us. Is that wrong?"

"Of course it's not wrong," Rose shrugs. "It's how you two do love. If he feels the same way about it that you do, what difference does it make? I know of no handbook on the subject. It works for you, and it works for him, so it's fine. I'm just saying you should make him put out a little effort for you. It's not going to kill him, and men need to know that you think you're worth the trouble, even if you don't really need it."

I pour myself another glass of wine. "Why are you with Emmett, Rose?" I can't believe I have the nerve to ask the question, but I'm honestly curious, and she seems more relaxed now than I ever expected to see her.

She thinks about it for a minute. "I don't know if my reasons are going to make sense to anyone but me, really. Emmett was the first boy who didn't run away and cry when I tore him a new one. He just kept coming back for more with a smile on his face. I'm a hardass, Bella. Always have been. Emmett's a big mush – he looks like a tough guy, but really he's all candy. I love that he's not afraid to let me win. He's psyched when I beat him at something, and proud of me. He wants me to boss him around, which is the only way I can be. I let him treat me as though I'm delicate. I own him, and he likes that. And in return, he owns me. Plus, you know, he's gorgeous, and sweet, and that helps, too." Rose takes another sip of wine, looking at me through her long eyelashes. "Why are you with Edward?"

This is at once the easiest and most difficult question that's ever been posed to me. "The Edward I know is the kindest, smartest, funniest, most amazingly dorky person I've ever met. He can finish my thoughts. He makes me feel great about myself. There's not a piece of me, not a single atom, that doesn't enjoy everything about him. He's pretty quiet around everyone else, but when it's just the two of us, he's got all kinds of interesting and bizarre and beautiful things to say. But now I know that he can be a liar, and that hurts me and scares me."

Rose starts laughing, which doesn't seem at all like an appropriate response to my pain and confusion. "Bella, get real," she finally gasps. "Everyone's a liar when they're falling in love."

"Yes, but…Edward has no idea how to just be himself around women. He's admitted as much to me. He's never done it. How do I know that who he's being right now is real?"

"You don't know. You'll never know unless you let him work through it and figure it out. He says he wants to chase you? Great – let him. Teach him how to be what you need him to be."

We simultaneously look over to the uncharacteristically quiet Alice, who has slipped her cell phone from her bag and is now stealthily tapping her fingers against her tiny QWERTY keyboard. "Alice! Knock it off this instant," growls Rose. "No contact tonight. Let them work it out."

"But I just want-"

"I know what you 'just want'," Rose snaps. "I'm telling you right now, just leave them alone. Jasper's not going to die. They'll get a little drunk, they'll argue some, and then they'll bond. Believe it. I know your brother – he needs to get over the bar thing, and he can't do that if you're going to constantly remind him why he's so upset about it."

She holds out her hand to Alice, brooking no argument. Alice reluctantly slips her phone into Rose's waiting hand with a pout on her lips. Rose is right, though: the guys need to reach an understanding independent of any outside influence. I wonder whether Emmett will ever be willing to accept Edward into the fold as well.

We talk until two in the morning, mainly nonsense, but I finally drift off feeling calmly fatalistic about the whole Edward thing. I knew from the beginning that he'd have to prove himself to me. It's taken exactly eight days of sleeping with him for me to forget why it's so necessary, but I'm going to remind myself that it is. I need assurance – as much as he can possibly give me. Because this time, this time I need it to be right and real, more than anything I've ever needed in my life.

_Please, Edward, do it. I know you can. You just have to, because I'm not giving you up for anything. And I miss you. I miss you. I miss you._

I wake up again at eight – Rose is in my room, standing in front of my open closet and shaking her head. "Honestly, Bella, where are your actual _clothes_?"

"You're looking at them," I mutter. "Alice's closet is much more likely to give you something you'll want to wear. Or better yet, we should head up to her studio to see if she's got anything there for you. I saw her working on a sundress a few days ago."

"Tick tock, Bella. I'm not getting any younger or more fashionable here."

I stumble out of bed and together we march into Alice's room to rouse her and find wardrobe options for Rose. Alice hears "clothing" and is instantly alert and quivering like a hound in the hunt. She strips herself of her powder blue satin sleep mask, bounds out of bed, and ushers Rose upstairs to the atelier to see the sundress. The straps need to be readjusted, which Alice does in a trice, and Rose steps up on the platform in front of the tri-fold mirror to assess the effect.

"Shoes," Rose says. Do we have shoes in Rose's size? I have no idea, but Alice has all kinds of crazy things that she bought or was given while she was working at Bergdorf. Alice looks speculatively at her feet. "Eight?" Rose nods.

Alice zips downstairs into her bedroom and the next time I see her, she's balancing three shoe boxes in her hands. I'm clueless as to why Alice has shoes in a size which will fit neither one of us, but I'm very glad that she does, because disappointing Rose seems like a bad idea all the way around. Rose selects a pair of cherry red Louboutin Mary Jane platform sling-backs. I don't know much, but I do know that those cost more than any article of clothing I own, and possibly more than all my articles of clothing combined.

"I'm keeping these," she states. "Of course you are," Alice replies.

"I need something underneath as well. I'll take a shower in your bathroom now, Alice."

Satisfied, Rose steps away from the mirror. She looks at us both for a moment, and we stare back at her, wondering what we have to do next. She raises her eyebrows at us. "Well? Are you two planning on going to the diner in your jim-jams? Find some clothing."

I dart back down to my bedroom, where I locate my khaki skirt and a rainbow-striped v-neck t-shirt. I sit on the edge of my bed and wait until I hear the shower stop running in Alice's bedroom, because something tells me Rose will be unhappy if the hot water runs out before she's had a chance to maximize the benefits of same during her time in there. The moment I hear the tap close, I'm in my own bathroom, scrubbing, shampooing, and shaving. I finish in under ten minutes and am drying my hair when she re-enters my room, looking for all the world as though she just leapt fully-formed from the pages of _Harper's Bazaar_.

I am inadequate. I recognize this, and yet am powerless to change it. I wonder again what Edward could possibly see in me, but recall that he's made it perfectly clear that he sees it, and that should be enough for both of us.

"Here," Rose exhales sharply, frustrated with me. She does some kind of odd fluff-and-comb thing with my hair, and when I look in the mirror again, I am transformed into something approaching really pretty hot, actually. She and Alice need to be sisters-in-law, because they share a subset of mystical feminine skills. I'm only happy that when it comes to me, they appear to want to use those skills for good and not evil.

We rejoin Alice downstairs. Alice is wearing a violet linen sheath and black pumps. I think both of these girls are a tad overdressed for the diner on Oak Street; however if they want to pretend we're all in a ZZ-Top video, I can't find a reason to argue the point. We'll scare the old men who come to read their papers in spouse-free peace and quiet, but that's not my problem.

I'm the first to walk out the front door, and as I do, I crash into Edward, who is standing there holding a large black binder in front of him. I take one look at him and I can hear a little sob leave my throat before I have the chance to smother it. He still looks tired, but when our eyes meet, everything save the way our gaze communicates all the longing and love and wistfulness between us disappears, leaving only that connection visible to me.

"Bel-" he starts to say my name. I don't give him a chance to finish because my lips need to be on his right at that exact second. He wraps his arms around me so tightly that they might actually cross each other twice, but I don't care because one night apart from him has been enough for me to realize that separation is no cure for what ails me. Whatever we need to figure out, we need to figure out at a more geographically convenient distance to each other.

We're blocking the doorway. Rose clears her throat in a mildly irritated fashion, and as much as I don't want to alter my current position, I know that I have to. I break away from Edward and turn around to face her.

"Edward," she acknowledges, and she's not entirely unpleasant as she does so. "I take it you'll be joining us at the diner, then?"

He looks at me and I nod. "Emmett and Jasper are probably already waiting for us." This makes him blink. "I'll explain on the drive over there," I add. I see Edward take in the way that we're dressed.

"Should I – I mean, should I just run home and change?" It's a legitimate question, given what Rose and Alice look like, but I shake my head at him and his customary khakis and white oxford, in which he looks freshly-pressed and implausibly gorgeous as usual. "No need," I reassure him with an understatement, so he shrugs and we head over to the cars. After a three sentence conversation, Rose and Alice slide into the Porsche, and Edward and I follow them in his car. I tell him all about Jasper and Emmett's enforced bonding session last night. He looks a little startled and expresses the hope that Jasper will make it to breakfast with all of his bits in one piece, and I inform him that there's no question on that score because Rose laid down the law and it's a case of She Who Must Be Obeyed in that corner. We don't talk about anything that's going on between the two of us because I don't want to do this now. I just want to sit next to him and hold his hand and huff him for a little bit, pretending that we have nothing unusual or big to discuss. He doesn't have to tell me that he missed me. I don't have to tell him that I missed him, either. That fact is so deep in both of us that we might as well add a swirl to our fingerprints to commemorate it.

"I like your hair," he comments, leaning over to stick his nose into my temple.

"Rose," I explain. "She doesn't favor ponytails any more than Alice does."

The diner is fairly crowded for Sunday on a holiday weekend. We manage to find two spots in the parking lot and everyone trails Rose as she leads the way into the eatery. We spy Emmett and Jasper in a large semi-circular booth at the far end of the diner. They are sitting very close to each other, heads together, laughing at something they clearly need to keep sotto voce. Emmett looks up as we approach, and quickly pokes Jasper in the ribs so that he can straighten up too. One look into the eyes of either one of them serves to confirm that they are still a teeny bit drunk – not enough to impair, but enough to liberate.

"Baby, I missed you. You look hot," Emmett croons as Rose slides into the booth next to him. She suffers a kiss on her snow white cheek, and pats his shoulder in an understanding fashion.

Jasper makes an effort to stand within the cramped confines of the booth. Alice snaps to his side like a Duncan Butterfly in the hands of a practiced master, quickly scooting around the table to sit at his right. They look at each other, and the look is so full of erotic promise that I feel a little dirty about being anywhere near their eye sex. Edward holds his hand out, gesturing that I should take my place next to Alice before he sits down next to me.

The six of us look around at each other, not saying a word for a moment. Jasper and Emmett have made a bit of an effort to seem serious and calm, but they catch each other's eyes and break into hysterical laughter again, Emmett slapping Jasper on the back several times as Jasper mutters "Patisa skata me ta kainourgia Timberland", which only cracks Emmett up all over again.

"What the hell? Did you just say something to my brother in Greek?" Alice vacillates between thrilled that they're relating and irritated that they're relating quite so well. Jasper shakes his head and straightens up again, but neither one of them will share what's amusing them so mightily, or why Jasper is saying things about Timberlands in the language of the classics.

"So," Rose opens. "I take it we're all good here now?"

Emmett laughs. "Yeah, we're good. Better than good, actually. This guy is the greatest." He reaches around Jasper's neck, grabbing him and giving him a noogie. Jasper grins and puts his head down.

Alice decides to go fishing for information, because I can see that her curiosity is cranked up to max warp. "Anything you'd care to share with the rest of us?"

They both shake their heads in an emphatic gesture. "Nope," Jasper says. "Not gonna happen, darlin' - sorry." He turns to look down at her. "Did you ladies have fun last night?"

She nods her head. "Lots of girl talk, with popcorn and wine."

Rose interrupts. "Listen, I'm glad you guys are besties now, but there's still the matter of Edward here. Emmett?"

Emmett looks over at Edward, who assumes a mild and apologetic expression. "Ed, if you swear to me that you're not in it to hurt Bella in any way, I'm not gonna push the issue," he states.

"I swear to you that I'm not in it to hurt Bella in any way," Edward repeats quietly, looking Emmett straight in the eye. That seems to be good enough for him, because he nods his head and sticks his hand out across the table. Edward shakes his hand once, up and down, and the peace accord is complete. "You two are banned from hanging out in bars, though," Emmett stipulates, and it appears that neither Jasper nor Edward have any desire to violate the terms.

"Okay, but seriously, I want to know what you said to Em in Greek, Jasper," Alice demands. This breaks them both up again, and in an effort to help Alice move past it and establish himself in everyone's good graces, Edward jumps helpfully into the void.

"My Greek is a little rusty, but I'm pretty sure Jasper just told Emmett that he stepped in shit while wearing new Timberlands. I don't recognize the quote – frankly, it doesn't sound like something Plato would have said."

Edward can translate Greek. Why can he translate Greek? I'm at a table full of beautiful people, and my boyfriend is the most beautiful of all. What kind of quantum shift in all that's rational and reasonable am I experiencing?

The waitress comes over to take our orders. Everyone except Edward wants eggs – he orders the French toast a little wistfully. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he leans over to whisper in my ear. "If I can't have your waffles, I don't want waffles at all." I don't think we're talking about waffles or anything breakfast related at this point. I put my hand on his arm. "My waffles aren't going anywhere, Edward," I promise, because I can't imagine taking my waffles or any other part of me away from him for any amount of time. We all belong to him now, and as soon as we figure out who the hell he is and what he wants with us, everything will be okay.

The conversation while we're eating is desultory because we're all pretty hungry, but as we near the end of the meal, Emmett leans across the table and looks at Edward. "So, Edward…do you have any special talents or abilities we should know about? I mean, Jasper here juggles. I've obviously got the whole jock thing locked down. What are you bringing to the party?"

I can think of a few talents Edward's got, but none of them are suitable for sharing over breakfast in mixed company. Edward scratches the back of his head, thinking.

"Well, I can play the piano," he offers hopefully. "And I'm actually a very good driver."

"Piano sounds nice," Emmett says. "But dude, everyone thinks they're a good driver. You don't seem like the type to drag race or drift or anything. You're way too buttoned-down. Plus, you know, doctor and all – I'm sure you've seen enough accident victims to scare you off for life."

Edward purses his lips. "You think so? I don't know – you might be surprised."

"Finish your girlie meal and step outside," Emmett challenges. We polish off what's left of breakfast, which Edward insists on paying for, and then troop outside to the cars. Emmett's got a great big honking Jeep, tricked out with all sorts of chrome and bars and PIAA fog lights. Alice has her Porsche, which is as fast and deadly as a cheetah. And Edward has… his sensible, safe, low-key Volvo. Of the three vehicles on offer, Edward's seems the least likely to make any sort of impression on a racetrack or in a rally, but he appears completely unconcerned with the obvious disparity.

"If you two would pull over to the empty parking lot of the office building next door, that would be great," he says. "Park up against the side of the lot and leave me two car-lengths of space between your cars."

"You're gonna parallel park? For real? Are you gonna show us a K-turn, too?" Emmett thinks this is hilarious, but Edward seems pretty serious, so they do as he asks. I drive over with Edward, who pulls up next to the other cars and tells me to get out. "Really, I don't want you in here for this," he says with a smile on his face. "And I want you to know that I don't do this often, because it's not especially safe or smart."

I feel a little bit like Natalie Wood in _Rebel Without A Cause_, and I wish I had a handkerchief to wave. I can't imagine what he's going to do, though, because whenever I've been in the car with him, he's Mr. Seat-belt-speed-limit. Edward rolls down his window and asks us all to step well clear of all the cars. Alice's face goes ashy. "Edward, if you put a scratch on my car, I'll make you suffer," she threatens.

"Alice, if I put a scratch on your car, I'll buy you a new one," he answers calmly. I'm a little freaked out because this is very unEdward-like behavior, but it's also a pretty exciting. He sees that we're safely off to the side, so he flips the visor up, scans the lot, guns his engine, and peels out. He does a few donuts and then tears out and around the big empty space, tires squealing. He aims for a fairly high concrete barrier at the far end of the lot – it's graded with a low slope at the end, which he nails with both passenger side tires, lifting the Volvo up on only the two driver's side wheels. He runs a few lengths in this wheelie, then slams the car back down on all four tires and screams back to where we're all standing with jaws dropped. He's headed straight for the Jeep and the Porsche at an angle, but torques the steering wheel several feet before collision, pops the hand brake, and slides the Volvo neatly into the space between the two other cars.

He kills the engine and steps out as though he'd just taken a leisurely Sunday afternoon drive down a country lane. Walking back to where we're standing, he folds his arms across his chest and cocks an eyebrow in Emmett's direction.

I think both Jasper and Emmett have soiled themselves, but I naturally don't want to get close enough to that situation to confirm one way or the other. Emmett reaches over and gives Edward a bear hug, taking him by surprise. "Where the fuck did you learn how to do _that?_" he breathes reverently.

"Uhm, my father's driver Riley is a retired stunt coordinator," Edward says as he pats Emmett gently on his back. "He used to take me out to practice for my road test, and we'd sort of get carried away. Frequently. It's not something I've ever told my parents about, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't volunteer the information when they get into town. I don't care so much for myself, but I'd be really upset if my father took it out on Riley."

Rose nods her head appreciatively. "You're all right, Edward. I might like you."

Edward shrugs and grins bashfully. "Thanks. It's not nearly as useful or fun at parties as juggling is, though."

He gently detaches himself from Emmett's embrace and walks over to stand next to me. "Who _are_ you, Edward?" I murmur. My mild-mannered, theatre-loving doctor can translate Greek off the top of his head and drives like Jason Bourne on the run. l I feel as though I know even less about him than I thought I did, and it's not a particularly comforting thought, even though I'll freely admit that this unexpected display of masculine prowess has turned me on something fierce.

"Haven't I been telling you, Bella? I'm the persistent jackass who's going to chase you into the ground," he answers, and puts his arm around my shoulder. "Did that impress you at all?" He sounds slightly hopeful.

"Take me home," is all I can say. I'm not sure which home I mean at this point, but we say goodbye to everyone and get into his car. "Seatbelt, Bella," he reminds me, because he's returned to the Edward I knew before the whole parking lot display.

We drive back over to my house, and Edward parks his car at the curb. Reaching behind him to the rear seat, he retrieves the large black binder he was holding when I first bumped into him this morning and hands it to me.

I look at the cover. There's a raised space into which one can insert a piece of paper to label the binder, which he's done. I see the words "_Encyclopedia Edwardtannica_" written in his exceptionally beautiful cursive.

"What is this?" I ask.

"It's the book of me," Edward answers. "There's only one page in it at the moment, just some basic and indisputable facts, but I'll give you more as we go along because I just started collecting the information and it's a holiday weekend. I don't want you or me to ever have to question anything about me again, so I'm going to give you every fact and piece of evidence I can put my hands on."

"Edward, this is…how can you possibly tell me what I need to know like _this_?"

"I don't know that I can, but I have to start somewhere," he answers. "If you know everything that I can tell you for certain, there'll be less stuff to guess about."

I open up the binder to look at the page inside. Edward has written the following:

_Name: Edward Anthony Masen_

_(Edward after my father, Anthony after my paternal grandfather)_

_Date of Birth: June 20, 1981 4:47 PM Central_

_Place of Birth: Evanston Hospital, Chicago, IL_

_Current Height: 6' 1 5/8"_

_Current Weight: 178 lbs. (as of this morning)_

_Eyes: Green, vision 20/80 corrected to 20/20_

_Haircolor: Blondish Reddish Brownish (passports and driver's license say blonde, but I don't think that's entirely accurate)_

_Teeth: 4 composite resin fillings, one crown (first bicuspid, upper left side)_

_Shoe Size: 12 Mens_

_Jacket: 42 Long_

_Waist: 33"_

_Right-handed_

_Blood type: AB Neg._

_IQ: 138 tested May 2001 Stanford-Binet 5 (I had a cold and probably should have done better)_

I read this through several times while Edward sits quietly next to me, then I turn my face up to look at his.

"Edward, you don't have to do this. I feel as though you're filling out a job application, and I don't want you to think that whatever or whoever you are isn't good enough for me. You don't owe me anything, and you don't have to justify yourself to anyone. I just want to know what's real and what's pretend, so that I don't assume what you say to me about us is something that it's not."

He's very serious again as he sighs and covers me in an avalanche of questions. "Bella, I _am_ filling out a job application. I'm applying to be your boyfriend. You deserve that – you deserve to know what you're getting into, here. I honestly don't know what I'm doing. I _think_ I'm being myself, but what if I'm wrong? What if I totally suck at this? What if I'm just manipulating you by being something you might like? What if we get into a fight – and let's face it, we probably will, eventually – and I'm really some kind of nasty bastard? What if I'm just being a nice guy because I want you now, but once I have you, I turn into a creep? I've never been a real boyfriend before, and I have no idea whether I'm going to be any good at it. I have no practical experience to offer you on my resume, and my record of attempts thus far is far from stellar. Plus, you've already had a crappy boyfriend who embezzled your self-esteem, so you should keep the register locked up tight until you're comfortable that I'm not going to do the same thing. In the meantime, I'm going to see what kind of absolute truth I can find in my past. I can't erase the stupid mistakes I made in Chicago. All I'm asking is that you not close the door on me until I make it as right as I can. It's something I need to do for me as much as I need to do it for you. Is that okay?"

He looks at me with a pleading expression in his eyes. Seriously, how can I not kiss him now? He just told me that he's applying to be my boyfriend. _He wants to work for me._ This ridiculous, smart, beautiful, strange man is going to bestir himself to make sure I'm reassured before I have to risk any more of myself with him. He could be holding a chainsaw in one hand, getting ready to hack me to bits, and I'd still kiss him just for saying that. In his mind, I'm worth the effort. I'm worth playing for. Whoever he is, whoever he'll end up being, I love him, and it's clear that we both think too much to have this be easy.

_Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably, Edward._

I pull his face to mine and kiss him soundly, hearing his breath quicken and feeling parts of him relax while other parts of him get excited. "Well, I'm hiring you, but you're on probation," I warn him, smiling. "Watch your step. We think you have a lot of potential, though."

"Where can I set up shop?" He's smiling too, the crooked smile that makes my reproductive organs put on tap shoes and do a few shuffle ball changes and a wing or two. My fallopian tubes are making with the jazz hands.

"We're a bit short on space at the moment," I say sadly, stroking his thigh. "I'm afraid you'll have to squeeze yourself into the bed for a while until I can arrange something more permanent for you."

"Really? Mhmmm. That's too bad," he pouts, as he's nuzzling my neck. "If I wasn't so keen on working here, I'd probably complain to human resources."

"Also, you should know up front that I plan on harassing you sexually. Repeatedly," I confess, shivering and stiffening and dampening as he moves his lips and tongue over my skin.

"Thank God. I'll work overtime," he whispers, nibbling on my earlobe. "You should totally put that information in the benefits package. I'd like to get started right away, if that's okay."

"I like your go-getter attitude. Lead the way." And we pull ourselves apart from each other long enough to exit the car and sprint through the door of my house.

# # #

**A/N - **I admire Bella's restraint, because I'd probably have jumped him in the car. Reviews are like donuts and wheelies in my soul, so please share your thoughts if you have a moment. What kind of information will Edward be sharing in the next few chapters, and from whence will all that information be coming? You'll just have to check back here next time to find out!


	16. A hit, a very palpable hit

I don't own Twilight. Seriously, if I did, I'd be wearing more expensive shoes.

The last time we were all hanging out together, Edward ate French toast and drove like The Stig on steroids. Muy macho, Doctor Awesome. What are he and Bella up to now? Read on –

# # #

A hit, a very palpable hit

BPOV

I am standing in the kitchen when disaster strikes.

Edward and I have spent the entire afternoon napping and christening my room in fine style, having all kinds of sex all over the place. As employees go, he's exceptionally dedicated, very detail-oriented, and actually pretty adept at multi-tasking. He's corner office material. CEO of my heart. And there's probably a joke to be made about raises in here too, but I'm starving and I need to focus on making us something to eat before we both pass out from all the exertion.

I can hear my cell phone ringing in my bag, which is somewhere near the foyer – it's probably Alice, wondering whether or not Edward is planning on staying the night so that she can feel better about staying at Jasper's, as I'm sure she wants to given their separation last night. Edward is puttering around the living room, wearing my bathrobe, whistling, and rearranging knick-knacks to suit his own bizarre world order.

"Can you please get that for me, Edward? It's Alice – just tell her that…I don't know, tell her whatever you think is appropriate given the circumstances," I say, my mind wandering away from the phone call to figure out whether I've got the ingredients on hand I need to make chicken piccata.

"Bella's House of Waffles and Wild Naked Times,'' I hear Edward's voice sing happily into the receiver. His voice alone should be enough to indicate to Alice that he's wearing my bathrobe, and she doesn't generally require road maps for this sort of situation.

"This is Edward. I'm sorry – you are?" (pause) "Right. Of course you are. I'm so sorry. I'm really very, very sorry. Let me just get-" I hear his bare feet pad quickly down the hallway to the kitchen, where I'm slicing garlic for the piccata. When I look up, I see him, wild-eyed and panicked, holding one hand over the receiver and beckoning me urgently with the other. He looks like a very young, very sexy Doc Brown from _Back to the Future_ because his hair is practically standing on end from our activities this afternoon. I furrow my brow at him as a question, and he mouths the fatal words "your mother" at me.

Sweet Jesus. I'd trade places with the citizens of Hiroshima circa August 1945 at this moment.

Dropping the garlic and the knife, I grab the phone from him and put it to my chest for a moment so that I can take a deep breath before walking in front of the firing squad.

"Hi Mom – how's Phoenix?"

"Don't you 'hi mom' me, Isabella. Who was that, and what on earth did he mean about waffles and wild naked times? Explain." I know my mother's eyes are the size of golf balls as she says this, and I can imagine her sitting down at our kitchen table back home, rapping her fingers sharply against the smooth wood surface as she waits for me to spill my sex guts.

"That was Edward," I say as evenly as I can.

"Yes, he told me as much himself," she fumes. "And I'm still completely clueless, because I don't know anyone named Edward."

I take a moment to look up at him. He's standing in front of me, hands gripping the counter, and the look on his face is priceless. If I had to guess, I'd say that he's just remembered my father is the chief of police back home in Laveen, and that means there are weapons at his disposal. I have to laugh at him now, and that instantly calms me down. I can't wait for him to meet Charlie, because my father's going to put him through the wringer. I don't have many cards in my "Freak Edward Out" deck, but this is definitely one of them, and I can't resist, so I psych myself up and let it fly.

"Edward is my probative boyfriend, mom," I tell her. "And he's not nude. Well, not at the moment, anyway. He's wearing my bathrobe, and I'm wearing a t-shirt." Edward shakes his head furiously in my direction, and he looks as though he's going to have an aneurysm. It's completely adorable and I'm getting giddier by the minute, momentarily losing any native embarrassment over the issue because I now know exactly how I can instantly and irrevocably ingratiate Edward with my mother. He's blushing enough for the both of us as it is. "We're also neither eating nor making waffles, but I am about to get started on some chicken piccata. I'm using Rita's old recipe."

"Your boyfriend? You have a boyfriend? How could you have a boyfriend and not tell me anything about him? Bellarina, that's just – well, it's downright hurtful, is what it is," my mother finishes with a pout. "I need all the information this instant."

I'm about to simultaneously give Edward a heart attack and make my mother's decade. This should be fun. "Well," I say, "We only started having sex about a week ago, so it's a fairly recent thing, mom. He's a doctor at the hospital in Port Angeles, and we're costarring in the play I told you about. He's from Chicago, he's very nice, and really quite good-looking when his hair isn't sticking up the way it is right now. He looks a bit demented at the moment, to be perfectly honest with you."

"What. Are. You. _Doing_," Edward whispers through clenched teeth. I smile angelically, because he doesn't yet know that my mother is a bit of a free-lovin' hippie and she's been waiting to have a conversation like this with me since my birth. He's her hero and she already adores him because I have never, ever given my mother a single detail about my sex life, no matter how she begged and cajoled for a crumb of information. And I know she'd sooner gouge her own eyes out than repeat a word of this to my father, because they are the ultimate odd couple and he just wouldn't get it. It's kind of a G. Gordon Liddy/Jane Fonda relationship they've got going on, but they make it work.

"Oh, Bella, I'm so happy. Thank you," she coos. "Is he good in bed? I mean, not that you have all that much to compare him to, but please tell me he's not one of those missionary guys with no imagination."

"No, he's really very imaginative," I smile. "And surprisingly flexible. He also runs almost every day, so the stamina is impressive."

Edward is now banging his head gently against the counter. I shift one of the pot holders there because I don't want him to give himself a concussion. Covering the mouthpiece for a moment, I put my hand on his head and say "Shush" in a soothing whisper.

"That does it. We're flying up for a visit," my mother announces. "When's good for you?"

"Why don't you come up for the play? We open on the twelfth," I suggest. If he's going to subject me to his parents that weekend, it's only fair that he get a taste of his own bitter medicine.

"Done. Should we book a hotel room, or do you have room for us at your house?"

"I'd say book a hotel room, Mom. You might present a bit of an obstacle if you're here," I laugh with a wink in my voice.

"Oh, Bellarina, this is the best phone call I've ever had," she gushes. "Let me just tell Charlie to take that weekend off. Is Edward still there with you? If he is, can I talk to him?"

"Sure thing – hang on a minute," I say cheerfully. I hold the phone out to Edward, who puts his lips between his teeth as though he's trying to hold himself back from vomiting. "It's fine, I promise," I whisper. I can see him wrestle with a "fight or flight" instinct, but he gives up and, defeated, he takes the phone from my hand with an expression of ultimate suffering.

"Hello, Mrs. Swan," he murmurs. "Yes, sorry – Renee it is. Uhm, thanks? No, really, that's not necessary. No – really, I appreciate it, but it's really not – of course. I look forward to meeting you as well. On the twelfth, then. All right, I'll give you back to Bella. Just a moment." He puts his head back down on the counter and holds the phone out to me.

"Hi, Mom."

"He sounds fabulous, Bella. I'll call you back once I have our flight information. Thank you, baby. Thank you so, so much, sweetheart. I'm so happy I can't stand it."

"No problem, Mom. I'll talk to you later," I say. "Love you."

"Love you too, baby girl. Talk later," she trills, and the line goes dead. I snap the phone shut and sneak a peek at Edward, who hasn't moved a muscle since he handed me the phone.

"Edward?"

"She's bringing me a copy of _The Kama Sutra_ and some self-warming oils as a welcome-to-the-family gift," he chokes. "Why, Bella? Why?"

I scoot around the counter to give him a hug. "I'm sorry, Edward," I say contritely. "That was mean of me. But you have no idea how happy you just made my mother. Honestly, this was like Christmas and her birthday all rolled into one. She'd sign over the house to you now if you wanted it."

I explain the Tao of Renee to him, and how the information divulged in the phone call will never make it to Charlie's ears. Edward is slightly mollified, although he spends at least five minutes wondering aloud how he's going to look Renee in the face when they meet, and he makes me swear on Shakespeare that I will never, ever have another conversation like that with her again, because he'd really like to keep what happens between the two of us private and separate from any and all parents or guardians. It's an easy thing for me to promise because I can't believe I had the guts to pull that off in the first place and I definitely don't want to be making a habit out of it, so I swear with a good conscience and spend the next ten minutes kissing him out of his stupefaction.

Some time later, we're eating chicken piccata and Edward is humming with every mouthful. He's fascinated by the fact that I can make rice which doesn't stick to the bottom of a saucepan, and wants to know what kind of witchcraft is involved in that process. I tell him that I am unwilling to share the information with him, because I fear he'll steal my magic and won't come over for dinner anymore.

"I'm not here for your rice, Bella. I hope that's clear to you," he says in a mock stern voice.

"It's a complicated ruse you've built, but I see through it," I maintain. "I will also not be telling you how I do the hard-boiled eggs."

We crawl back upstairs into bed, because Edward has to work a double overnight shift tonight as part of the holiday weekend burden-sharing the doctors do, and I really want him to have at least a few hours of sleep before he needs to leave. He's tougher than a stubborn toddler though, and it takes me a good forty-five minutes to get him to settle down for a nap, so we chat a bit before he drifts off.

"Edward? What kind of information should I be expecting you to add to the encyclopedia in the coming days?"

"Hmmm," he says, scratching his forehead in a lazy and relaxed fashion. "I called Frances and asked her to fax over my school transcripts and report cards, and I'm expecting several letters from people who've known me since I was a tyke. I have no idea what they're going to write about me, so that's naturally exciting all the way around. I don't think there's anything extremely embarrassing to anticipate, though, because I've been pretty dull my entire life."

"Who is Frances? Your school transcripts? What am I going to learn from them, please?"

"Frances is my mother's right hand. As for what you'll learn, I'm not sure. I guess you'll see what I studied and how well I did – I'm not going to brag, but my grades were pretty decent. And I think most of my school teachers wrote something about me for every report quarter, so you'll find I was generally well-behaved, pretty quiet, and sucked at anything involving Home Economics."

"Were you really shy as a boy?"

He considers the matter carefully for a moment before he answers. "Again, I don't think I'm shy, really. I just always liked living in my own imagination more than I liked playing and interacting with others, and the things I liked to do weren't popular, I guess. When it was just me, I didn't have to compromise on what I played so that was just easier. Wow, that sounds pretty selfish when I say it out loud," he realizes. "Sorry. I don't want to be that way anymore, though, and I really do like the way you play, so I don't mind compromising with you in the slightest." He's stroking my hip as he says this, but I grab his hand to stop him before he completely throws the whole "nap time" concept out the window.

"Where did you go to school?" It suddenly occurs to me that he knows where I went to college, but I have no idea where he went, and never thought to ask.

"Lake Forest Country Day until eighth grade, then away to Exeter. I have my undergrad degree from Dartmouth, and went to Johns Hopkins for med school." He's extremely casual as he's reciting this list, and doesn't notice that my eyes are bugging out of my head.

"You went to Exeter? As in the best private school in the country?"

Edward shrugs. "I suppose. It was a pretty insulated high school experience, and I was unhappy about being so far away from home. But I did get used to New Hampshire, and that made the transition to Dartmouth pretty painless."

"And Johns Hopkins?"

"I didn't want to follow my father into Harvard," he grins.

"Did you have a choice about that?"

He nods. "I had a few options. I went with Hopkins because I originally thought I'd be more interested in research than in practical medicine."

"Is there anything truly horrifying in your past, aside from the whole thing with the women in Chicago?"

"Well, let me think," he smiles. "I worship the devil, sleep upside down in a pentacle, pluck the wings from small insects, and am a notoriously bad tipper. But I'm pretty neat and I pay my taxes, so I figure it all balances out in the end."

"I can see that we've concluded the serious portion of this conversation," I glower. "At least, I hope to hell we have. Here," I pull his head onto my shoulder. "Get some rest." I start running my fingers through his hair, humming softly, and he curls up, sighing. "This is just so nice," he murmurs, and wraps his arms around me as he drifts off to sleep.

I spend most of Monday getting ready for the onslaught of the fall semester. I have a five course load, which is extremely heavy, but Harrison has already agreed to cover Jasper and myself as much as he needs to during these last two weeks of rehearsal for the play. Speaking of which, I'm getting very excited about opening night because we're very close to it now, less than two weeks away, and things are really starting to come together. The sets are pretty minimal; we've got some long tavern tables, some chairs, and a few backdrops. But the entire cast is rowing in the same direction, and this scull of a play appears to be headed into smooth water.

I don't see Edward again until rehearsal on Tuesday, although we talk constantly, burning rollover minutes like gasoline in a Hummer. I'm pretty exhausted because the first day of classes is even more tiring for teachers than it is for students, but it's also exhilarating to see all of those empty heads in front of you, begging to be stuffed with the fruits of so much brilliant imagination born in the minds of the world's great authors. I made an effort to dress for classes today, in honor of the occasion: I am wearing the blue psychological Beatrice armor dress, and my hair is piled loosely on top of my head, held there by two long silver sticks. Alice helped arrange the hair due to the fact that I'm incapable of anything that complicated up in the hair follicle region.

Even though it's early, Edward is already onstage talking to Banner and Ben when I arrive at the theatre. He's in full costume tonight, and the impact of the military uniform is even more startling today than it was the first time I saw it. He looks absolutely magnificent, and I can't for the life of me figure out the mathematics of the attraction I appear to hold for him. He also carries himself differently when he's wearing the costume – he seems more outgoing and confident and, well, brash, than he generally is – it's mesmerizing, and I can feel heat build up from somewhere in my groin and radiate out to every distant recess of my body.

He spots me as I'm dumping my bag and assorted books on a chair in the audience. He takes one look at what I'm wearing and jumps neatly off the apron of the stage to stand very, very close to me.

"You're wearing that dress," he whispers into my ear. "That's the dress you wore the first time we talked. Do you have _any_ idea what that dress does to me, or what I want to do to you when you wear it?" He's talking through clenched teeth, and he sounds so aroused that he's almost angry. "Come on." And he's pulling me up the long aisle out of the theatre. His eyes look a little crazy as he shifts he head around, trying to find a suitably discreet place to take me, both literally and figuratively. There's a small concession area on the far left-hand side of the lobby, behind which appears to be a dark hallway leading to what I imagine are offices and supply closets. That's where we're headed, apparently.

He practically runs across the lobby, dragging me with him. "Edward, wait – I'll kill myself if I run in these shoes. They have heels!" I'm wearing the same kitten heels I had on the first time I wore this dress, and the thought of wasting all this spectacular lust in a trip-and-fall followed up by a few hours in the ER makes me yank his arm back slightly and force him to proceed at a slightly slower pace. We're speed-walking all the same, and I'm pretty sure that we look very Keystone Cops about the whole thing, but we finally reach the hallway, which is deserted.

I'm expecting him to try the doorknobs and find an open one for us to hide behind, but Edward has no such plans. He pushes me up against the wall and, reaching down, grabs the hem of my skirt to lift it up and bunch it in the nonexistent space between us.

"I've dreamed about doing this very thing since the first day you wore this dress," he murmurs, taking both of my hands in one of his and sliding them up until they are pinned against the wall above my head. I'm panting for air, unsure if my legs will hold my weight with the additional burden of overwhelming need consuming me, so I wrap one leg around his thigh to steady myself. His other hand unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulling them down and freeing himself from the confines of his boxers. Pushing my panties to one side, he bends his knees and slams himself into me without preamble.

"Oh, _God_, Bella," he moans into my collarbone, his breath coming out sharply through his teeth as he – what is the word, Bella? _Think._ Come on, this is ridiculous. Wait – ravish. Yes, that's it - as he ravishes me. I'm lost in a complete haze of screaming desire, even though there's a tiny corner of my brain that's freaked out about the public sex aspect of this, as that's not something I ever pictured myself being brave enough to attempt. We're mere feet away from the lobby, where any of our cast members are liable to wander at any moment in time.

"You don't know, you don't know," Edward is saying over and over again, a chant of dreams fulfilled. I know I need to keep quiet, but I can't help the sounds coming out of my mouth, and they're getting louder by the second because this whole scenario is stupid hot. Edward brings his hand up and puts his palm over my lips for a moment. "Sssh," he whispers, "Quiet, now," replacing his hand with his mouth. And the gravity of our actions sucks the sound right through us, taking it from the air around us and forcing it back into our throats as we swallow the noise of our shared climax against each other's lips.

He releases my hands and drops his forehead to mine, trying to catch his breath. I'm laughing because in addition to wondering who the heck Edward is, I now have to wonder who the heck _I_ am. Where did Bella go? Bella wouldn't do something like this, and Bella would certainly never inspire someone else to do this with her. Nothing in the universe makes any sense anymore. My entire world is shambolic now that Edward's a part of it – a beautiful, tangled knot of limbs and lust and love and happiness.

I'm a drippy mess; Edward reassembles himself and quickly runs to grab some napkins from the concession stand so that I can clean up a little before dashing to the bathroom. "You need to think very, very carefully before you wear that dress around me," he warns me, grinning. "It's a fairly potent weapon of destruction where I'm concerned. I'll cough up a kidney or a lung on command when I see it on you."

"You're a bit of a freak," I return. "It's not as though this dress is particularly revealing."

He sighs and shakes his head at me. "You know, while it's true that there's nothing I like better than an uninterrupted view of you, that dress makes me crazy because it's who you are in fabric form. It's sweet and innocent and smart and sexy and just beautiful and it has no idea that it's all of those things. If you were a dress, Bella, you'd be that dress." Then he kisses me and I run to the bathroom to clean up before heading back to the theatre. How am I supposed to be angry that we risked discovery and humiliation in front of our castmates when he says something like that to me?

Once I have my corset and skirt on, I'm really Beatrice. Rehearsal is going extremely well; the blocking we did in the basement is translating well to the space of the stage, due in no small part to the fact that Banner thought to tape out the distances on the floor of the basement so that we'd know the exact amount of space we'd be working with.

Banner's decided that he wants to add a bit of swordplay when the watchmen confront Borachio before arresting him, because he doesn't like the fact that Borachio and Conrade give in to the arrest so easily since they're pretty scummy to begin with. Nobody in the mix has ever done any kind of stage fighting, so the rest of us take a dinner break and hang out in the house to watch them – Edward and I are sitting with Alice, Jasper, Angela, Ben, and Bill, while Mike and Jessica, still an item, are sitting behind us. Angela had called out for our standard pizza delivery, so we're making the most of our free time by decimating the better part of four large pies.

Banner takes some of the rapiers he's rented for the costumes and starts to walk them through the choreography, but they're fairly slow and hesitant about it. I notice that Edward is frowning and getting twitchy next to me, as does Alice, who is sitting on the other side of him. "What's your issue?" she hisses at him. "They're never going to get anywhere like that," Edward mutters under his breath. Frustrated, he hands me his plate, on which rests a half-eaten slice of pizza, stands up, brushes his hands together, and hops back up on the stage.

I see him have a brief word with Banner, who hands him a rapier and tells everyone onstage to stand aside for a moment. Banner takes a rapier in his hand and faces Edward, waiting.

"I never studied, so it's your call," Banner says. "En garde." And as we watch, Edward goes from pizza-eating observer to Errol Flynn, flexing his wrist and parrying with Banner. "Look," Edward says, "Lunge, flèche , Prise de Fer, parry, parry, Coupé lance." Banner has him repeat the sequence several times so that they can map out where everyone needs to stand, and Edward obliges. He's lithe, and strong, and swashes his buckle like nobody's business, taking my breath away in the process. Of the two, Conrade seems to be the more apt pupil, so it's decided that he'll be the one doing battle with the watchmen while Borachio stands back.

Satisfied, Edward hands the rapier back to Banner and lets them get on with it, while he heads back over to where we're sitting.

"You fence," I accuse, although I'm not entirely certain why I'm accusing him of it, because it's not as though it's a crime. It's just one more thing I didn't know about him until this moment.

"Well, yes, I do," he admits, somewhat unnecessarily. "My mother insisted I learn – it's a bit of a tradition in her family. Is that going to be a problem?"

I shake my head. "I suppose not," is all I can say, because I simply refuse to admit that I'm all turned on again.

Jasper thinks it's hilarious, of course. "You're using Bonetti's defense against me, eh?" he quotes.

"I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain," Edward answers with a grin, but he's looking at me, not Jasper.

We finish up dinner and get back to rehearsal. What's interesting about tonight is the fact that when Benedick and Beatrice are interacting, I now know exactly what's going on in Edward's head, which I didn't before. He's told me how he'd been keeping the two of us separate from what happens while we're acting, but now there's no reason to do that anymore, so I find that Edward and I are kind of shifting back and forth between acting and being ourselves. It's a subtle change, but one we both recognize, and it makes the whole experience even more fun somehow. And the strangest thing is that I can actually tell when it's Edward talking and when it's Benedick talking. There's something in the eyes, some minor adjustment he makes in the way he looks at me, that tells me whether I'm talking to a character or to the man who pawed me in a dark hallway a few hours ago.

Angela joins me as I'm standing in the wings, waiting for my entrance at the second wedding. "Bella? Do you have a minute?" she asks quietly, shyly.

"Of course! What's up?" I keep my voice low, because I don't want to disturb the process onstage. Angela gently pulls me further back by my forearm until we're in the alcove usually used by the stage manager.

"I hate to bother you, but I don't really have a lot of close girlfriends, and I don't know who else to talk to about this," she begins, looking down at the floor.

"Angela, it's all right, you can trust me," I say, because I like her and, as someone fairly shy myself, I know what kind of courage it takes to ask a difficult question. "What's the matter?"

She twists her fingers together nervously. "It's, uhm, well, it's….Ben," she finally manages. "I want to ask him out, but I've never done that before and – God, this sounds so stupid and high school, doesn't it?" She's blushing like mad. "I just think he's great, and I'm tired of waiting around for him to ask me out, so I thought I'd take a chance. What's the worst that could happen? I mean, he says no, and I just fade back into the woodwork, right?"

"Hmmm," I answer. "Well, it's not as though I have a ton of experience in this area, but from what I've seen, it looks as though Ben likes you as much as you like him. What have you got to lose? I say go for it."

Angela snorts. "Easy for you to say – I'll bet you never worried about this kind of thing once your entire life."

I goggle at her. "You're joking, right? You know you're talking to me and not Alice. I'm completely clueless about men."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "I'm not buying it. Look at how you are with Edward. God, if I could flirt like that. I'm so shy I can't even be in the same room with Ben unless I focus on the fact that we're friends."

Do I flirt with Edward? It doesn't feel as though I do. I try to think back to the beginning, when I first met him. I remember fear, and anxiety, and excitement, and embarrassment, but no flirting on my part. He just did what he did, and I reacted to it as best as I could. The only flirting I can recall came during that walk around the room we took – other than that, we've just been talking to each other and making jokes, as far as I can tell.

"Angela, I swear to you that I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea how the thing with Edward actually happened. One minute I was totally paralyzed with fear, and the next minute we were on a date. If flirting happened, it was him and not me. I was just scared to death and praying I wouldn't pass out most of the time."

"You'd never know it to look at you," Angela marvels. "You just look so calm and cool and ahead of the game. If you're really as shy as you say you are, you're one heck of an actress."

So – wait. Just a second here. Was I pretending to be somebody I'm not when I met Edward? Hell. I feel as though I need to get my own school transcripts to figure out how much of myself I've revised over the past few weeks.

"Just ask him, Angela. Ask Ben out. If the way he looks at you is any indication, you won't be fading into any woodwork," I advise, putting my hand on her arm. "I don't know what I'm talking about, but that's my opinion. And when you're planning what to do, try to pick someplace where you'll be comfortable." It's the best I can do, because I'm no guru. If she wanted guru, she should have gone to Alice.

Rehearsal runs a little late tonight; we don't finish until almost ten o'clock, and everyone's pretty tired. I'm definitely going back to my house, because this week is going to be crazy and I need all the sleep I can get. Sleeping at Edward's house, while lovely and fun and fulfilling in so many ways, doesn't, as a rule, involve a whole lot of actual sleep. I explain this to Edward and he's sad, but he understands. We make plans to go back to the Korean restaurant on Friday, and I invite Alice and Jasper along. Alice wants to know if she can extend the invitation to Emmett and Rose as well, which is fine with me. I only hope that the restaurant won't care if Edward decides to drive his car straight up the side of the building and jump it onto an adjacent rooftop. Not that he's said he plans to do that, but I'm learning that I can't take these things for granted the way I once thought I could.

As we're walking out to my car, Edward hands me a large manila envelope with a string fastener. "My transcripts and report cards," he says. "I didn't get a chance to read them, but I'm sure they're insanely boring. I'm going to have at least two, and possibly three, letters for you to read by Thursday."

"Have I mentioned that you _really _don't need to do this? I mean, I appreciate the effort, but honestly, I feel awful about putting you through the trouble just to prove something to me."

"I'm proving it to myself as much as I'm proving it to you," he answers. "When we're confident that I'm just being the same 'me' I've always been around you, we'll never have to worry about it again."

I look down at the envelope, fingering the end of the string which holds the top flap to the body. I almost want to tell him about how I'm doing things which are extremely out of character for me lately, but I hold my tongue and don't say a word about that. Instead, I give in to an overwhelming urge to hand him power over me, because it's the truth, and because no matter what happens now, no matter what I learn about him, no matter whether he breaks me in two, he deserves to have it, this piece of me that is actually the whole.

"Edward, I need to tell you – something," I stumble over my tongue. This is a simple sentence, composed of monosyllabic words, yet I know that once I say this, I can't take it back, and that's pretty scary.

He pauses and turns to me, his face an unspoken question. He's listening, because Edward always listens to me. It's incredible, but he does, even when what I'm saying is trivial or unreasonable.

When I don't immediately continue, he wrinkles his brow in concern and – what is that? Fear? "Whatever it is, Bella, you can just say it," he encourages.

I'm in mid-air already. I can't climb back onto the cliff. So I take a deep breath and pray to God that I don't land on sharp rocks. It will have been worth the gamble, and I'd do it all over again given the chance.

"The thing is…I love you. And I'm not telling you that because you're trying so hard to prove something to me and give me peace of mind. I'm telling you that because I need you to know that whatever I find out about you won't change how I feel – it's just details, or things I'll need to accept or ignore or forget or whatever. Whatever's in this envelope, whatever's in those letters, it doesn't matter anymore. You deserve to know, because it's an absolute truth. So, that's what I needed to say." I'm looking at his chest as I'm talking, because I'm too afraid to look at his face. I don't know what I'm scared of, but I'm scared, so I talk to the third button down from his collar.

He doesn't say anything, and I can't look up. Why isn't he saying something? Crap. This was stupid, I'm stupid, and he's probably freaked out and now I can't backtrack and make that sound less intense. I'm an idiot. I can't believe Angela came to me for advice on how to deal with men, because I couldn't reason my way out of a paper bag where they're concerned, and that's so obvious it should practically be tattooed on my forehead for crying out loud. Run, Angela. Whatever I told you to do, do the opposite of that.

Okay, the silence is really getting super awkward now. I wish I'd thought to say this while standing over a manhole cover, so that I could just kick it open and drop down out of sight, disappear from view and crawl my way through raw sewage like Tim Robbins in _The Shawshank Redemption_, then take a bath in a distant river and run off to Mexico under an assumed name to spend my life refinishing boats and drinking beer with Morgan Freeman. I want a second chance in Zihuatanejo too.

There is no manhole cover, no convenient escape to Margaritaville. I look up because there's no other option. And there's Edward, beautiful green eyes shining, mouth stretched in an impossibly huge grin. I don't have to search very hard for a word to describe what I'm looking at: he's dumbstruck. Literally, struck dumb. And I did that with my monosyllables of faith in him. I surrender power, and receive it again tenfold.

"Wow," he finally manages. And again, "Wow."

I find my voice again, and it's full of happy. "So, that's okay with you then, right?"

Instead of nodding, he grabs me and smothers me in a ferocious hug. "What's today's date? It's September Second, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's the Second."

"Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, for the rest of my life, September Second is going to be the best day of the year for me from now on," he laughs, slightly breathless. "Jesus, I want to call the city tomorrow and ask them if I can dig up this square of concrete we're standing on." Then he takes my face between his hands and kisses every square inch before folding me back into his arms. "Best day ever," he murmurs. "Ever. Thank you, Bella. I'll earn that, I promise. I swear to God I will make sure you never regret saying that to me."

"Yes, well, you're still on probation in spite of the fact that I love you, so you'd best be working hard to earn the title. No slacking off just because the boss thinks you're swell."

"I don't want to move from this spot. Let's just build a hut or something and live here."

"Whatever you like, except you should note that there are at least three winos who call the sidewalk on the other side of the street home, so they'd be our new neighbors."

"No casseroles and welcome wagons from them, I'm guessing. And they're probably not the type to play four-handed bridge, either. But at least we can cross the road anytime we need to borrow a cup of Thunderbird or Night Train."

We stand there, just smiling like halfwits and holding each other for an endless span of time. "I really do have to go," I finally sigh. "School starts early tomorrow morning, and it's going to be a long day."

"No," he refuses. "I reject your reality and substitute my own."

"Let me go – I'm due in class at nine in the morning, and it'll totally cost me the ability to scare the freshmen if I'm falling asleep at the lectern like some kind of sad narcoleptic."

"Wait just a second, okay?" He swings his backpack from its place on his shoulder and holds it in front of him, opening the zipper and fishing out a notebook and a pen. "Can you please turn around for a moment? I need a desk, and you're such a pretty one."

I spin so that my back is facing him, and I lean forward slightly to give him a better surface on which to write. I hear him flip open the notebook and turn a few pages, and then he's leaning against my back, scribbling something. He taps my shoulder to let me know he's done, so I turn back to face him. He carefully tears a piece of paper from the notebook, folds it neatly in half, and hands it to me.

"This is the new Page One of the revised _Encyclopedia Edwardtannica,_" he explains. "It's Page One because that's the most important page of any book. That's where the whole story starts."

I look down and unfold the piece of paper he's handed me. On it, he's written just one brief sentence:

_I love Bella Swan. _

"That's absolute truth of the truthiest kind. Doubt my shoe size or anything else about me, but don't ever doubt that," he smiles, and gives me one last kiss goodbye.

# # #

**A/N** – There now – Bella's said the words and given Edward her trust, because he deserves it, and while she may be a smidge neurotic, she's not stupid. We're entering the home stretch before opening night. Lots of activity on deck, along with a few surprises, because who doesn't like surprises?

You there, in the balcony, reading along – please drop me a review. I'll be pacing in the lobby, waiting for the newspapers to hit the stands and trying to control my nausea until I hear from you.


	17. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie

**A/N** – You guys? You're lovely. You're all in my will. Must take this moment to shine the light on cretin, blackdogs, sophie921, ayartee, letempspasse, aliceg7173, maniacalmuse, vysed, and jilburfm, who always, always review and say such nice things to me that it makes me all fuzzy in my head. McVampy? Don't you people already know how I feel about her? If you don't, you need to read my rambling A/Ns more carefully, because I adore her on a very regular basis.

You don't seem to mind the long chapters, which is good, as this chapter is, I think, the longest yet. By the time this story has reached its denouement, I expect we'll be looking at 45k words for the epilogue alone at the rate I'm going.

I don't own Twilight. Have I mentioned that? It's true. Stop on by the TPAP thread on Twilighted to say 'hi' to me.

Back to Edward and Bella. They love each other. It's Page One news. Does that mean the story's over, and we can all return to our lives now? Heck no. Read on -

# # #

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie

BPOV

The mystery of how Edward came to be sitting in a diner in small-town Washington translating rude Greek phrases is solved with his transcript: it's one of the four languages he's studied. Four. Including Latin, French, and, German. Once I'm in possession of this fact, I can't help but demand that he say things to me in all of these languages, because the only thing better than hearing him say ridiculous things to me in English is hearing him say ridiculous things to me in Latin.

"Ut ego intereo, tego texi tectum mihi inter vestri papillae," he murmurs to me on the phone Wednesday night.

"And this means…?"

"When I die, bury me between your breasts," Edward laughs. I think he's partly joking, and partly serious, though.

"Your transcripts are insane – you realize that, right? I mean, straight As, and you were never absent or tardy ONCE from kindergarten through eighth grade. How is that possible?"

"Bella, Riley drove me to school. We could have left the house five minutes after classes began and he'd still get me there on time."

"Mrs. DeNucci didn't seem to appreciate your conduct in Sculpture."

"I still got an A. And in my defense, the woman had no aesthetic sense, which seems sort of vital in an art teacher."

"Exeter's a different story, though, isn't it. Honestly, Edward, a B in Human Sexuality?"

"Well, I thought there'd be more labs and field trips for that one. It was all talk and books, as it turns out. Very disappointing."

"Did you date anyone in high school?" I'm not sure I want to know the answer to this question, but I can't stop myself from asking it anyway.

"Have you _seen_ pictures of the kind of girl who goes to Exeter? Plus, everyone is in everyone else's business at a school like that. And I was really pretty gangly and awkward, which definitely didn't help matters. I did have a prom date, though. The daughter of one of my father's friends, who came up from Andover for the occasion. She made me promise to pick up two large baguettes from The Loaf and Ladle before we hit the dance, because she didn't want to get drunk on an empty stomach."

"She sounds charming," I giggle.

"She made out with my friend Reggie before she threw up – Reggie told me they were rounding third base when she passed out. I was back in bed by eleven. Solo."

"And, nobody else, then?"

"Nobody else," he confirms, sounding slightly awkward. "Girls didn't seem to start really noticing me until my junior year at Dartmouth."

He can't see me, but I'm totally shaking my head at him. "How is that possible?"

Edward sighs. "Bella, to be perfectly frank with you, I think you might be a tiny bit prejudiced in your opinion of my attractiveness. I was hardly a super-stud. I'm not a jock, and I'm hopelessly nerdy on many levels."

"You don't see what happens when we walk down the street together," I respond quietly. "You practically stop traffic. I'm seriously considering buying a taser so I can keep the she-wolves at bay."

"And it makes me no less crazy when I see other men look at you," he growls at me. "We'll get matching tasers – his and hers."

I snort at him, but leave it at that. _'I miss your skin,'_ I want to say, but I know a statement like that would just pour gasoline on the fire between us. I can't help it. I miss his skin, and everything it covers, too. If I say it, I will not be able to stop myself from getting in my car and finding him, and we both really need to sleep.

"Please come over. Please," he asks in a strained voice, because even though I haven't said a word, he hears what's in the silence. "I just want to be near you. I'm out of here in less than a half-hour, and I'll be home in less than forty minutes. If you leave now, we'll make it to my place at about the same time."

"Tomorrow," I promise. "I'll come over after rehearsal."

"I'll be dead from missing you by tomorrow," he complains. "Dead."

"I'll bury you between my breasts, though, so it won't be a total loss for either of us," I laugh half-heartedly. "Come on. You've got the early shift tomorrow, and I've got three classes to get through." _Don't tempt me. I'm too easily had where you're concerned, nerd of my heart._

"This really sucks," he says petulantly. "Maybe I should quit and go back to school to get another degree in English."

"I couldn't sleep with you if you were my student, Edward. There are, you know, all kinds of rules about that sort of thing."

"Now you're just being difficult. Okay, tomorrow. But I mean it, Bella: I don't care what else is going on, you and I are together tomorrow night. I won't be held responsible for my actions if you postpone."

"Ten-four, General Mayhem," I grin. We need to stop talking about it, because one or two more sentences is all it would take for me to toss my good intentions curbside and burn rubber all the way to his house. "Get out of there and get some sleep. I Page One you to bits."

"Jesus, Bella, I love you. I just – I mean, _love you_. You take over everything, absolutely everything in my head, in my life, in my body. You're a total invasion. Four letters doesn't seem like enough to cover it all. Why isn't there a bigger word for this kind of thing?"

"Put that five-star education to some use and find one, then."

"Tomorrow," he says, as though it's a threat. _Yes. That's right. Threaten me with my fondest dreams, you irrational man._

We hang up the phone, and it occurs to me that I'm quite the stupidest person I've ever met. A lowering thought, as I've met more than my fair share of stupid people. What is sleep? Why would I want sleep when I could be with Edward, who gives me things which are much more valuable than sleep? Why do I feel the need to be so calm and rational about this? It's a physical torture to be apart from him, an actual, quantifiable pain. I ache as though I have a fever, and the cure has just reached out his hand and begged for me to avail myself of the balm that only he can provide. Stupid? Yes. No more stupid. The stupid stops here.

I run upstairs to grab a change of clothing, passing Alice as she descends from her studio. She takes one look at me and nods her head.

"Have fun in the love worm hole," she waves. "I'm calling Jasper now. We're trying a new thing: we're only having sex one night a week. Tonight we're having a phone date and watching some documentary about the Civil War on The History Channel."

"Good luck with that," I tease, and thunder down the stairs. "What's next? Bingo Night at The Elks Lodge?"

"Way to support the team, Bel," Alice yells, following up with "Hussy!"

Laughing, I stuff all my books and papers haphazardly into my briefcase and fly out the front door to my car, start it up, and pull out as though I was John Dillinger with the heat on my tail.

When I hit the exit for Port Angeles, I take the shortcut through town because it's so late that I'm not likely to hit any traffic. I get caught at the red light on Main and Smohalla. I'm sitting there, tapping my fingers on the wheel and cursing the town elders for not turning these lights to flashing reds after business hours, when I notice a car on the opposite side of the street, waiting for the same red light to turn green. The car is a silver Volvo, and in it is Edward. He's not headed in the direction of his house, which I find completely confusing, so I flick my brights at him to get his attention. His eyes almost leave his head when he sees it's me. He shoves his car into "Park" and leaps out.

"Bella?"

There are no other cars around, so I put my car into "Park" as well and hop out to run over to him.

"Where are you going?" I ask, and I realize I sound a bit ticked off. We're standing smack-dab in the middle of the empty intersection as though it's a cozy Starbucks.

"Where are _you_ going?" He sounds a little miffed too.

We look at each other for a moment before we simultaneously burst into hysterics as understanding dawns. "Oh, my God, Bella. Oh my God," Edward gasps when he can speak. "I'm around the bend for you and weak as hell, but at least I'm in good company. This is so _Gift of the Magi_." And he grabs me and kisses me until we're both drowning in the sensation, lost to everything around us.

The bleep of a siren brings us crashing back to reality. I had no idea that squad cars could sneak up on people, but there you have it – it's possible. The door to the police cruiser opens, and in a karmic slap of humiliation, out steps Officer Pete, who plays our Borachio. He hitches his pants up in a move they must teach at the police academy and strides slowly over to us.

"Evening, you two," he drawls. "Say, I hate to break up the unscheduled rehearsal, but I think it might be best if you move your, uh, activities out of this major thoroughfare and into a, let's say, less-traveled area. You're violating about six different laws at the moment, and I'm not even sure how to write this up." He's grinning as he talks, the kind of grin they must also teach at the academy because it creates instant shame and guilt in its wake. I know from experience with my father that we'll make the headline for station gossip this evening, and very probably tomorrow as well.

"Sorry, Pete," Edward says, unable to meet his eyes. "We'll move out. Sorry." 'My house,' he mouths to me, as though Pete is entirely incapable of reading his lips as well as I can. We slink back to our respective vehicles.

When we get to Edward's house, I realize as I walk through the front door with him that it's never going to feel normal to not sleep next to him again. It'll always feel incomplete. That freaks me out a little bit. I mean, we've established that I love him and he loves me, but I can feel myself becoming completely dependent on his presence in order to function. That can't be healthy, right? Should I address this with him? How do I even bring something like that up without sounding as though I'm trying to insinuate myself into his home on a permanent basis? In my naïveté, I thought that announcing your feelings would somehow make conversations like this flow naturally, but I discover that admitting you love someone is just the tip of a very large iceberg of awkward. Still, with all of that, I'd rather be awkward with Edward than anyone else on earth.

I think we need to establish some kind of schedule, because these spontaneous late-night interstate meanderings are going to cost one or both of us our sanity sooner or later. This high-speed race to the comfort of his bed is also thoroughly unusual behavior for me. I'm scared by the fact that I need him so much.

"Hungry?" he asks, and I shake my head, but I offer to make him something if he's starving. He gives me a hug to thank me, telling me he already ate his regulation yogurt and banana for dinner. And the thing that kills me is that he is perfectly content to leave it at that.

"Edward, there's no food in your food," I sigh. "How about a grilled cheese sandwich or something?" I can see his eyes glaze over, which I take as a sign that grilled cheese sandwiches are the new hotness, so I walk back to the kitchen to make him one. He's been stocking the kitchen since I first spent the night here, and now it's a pretty simple matter for me to whip up a quick meal for us. I break out his new frying pan and gather together some slices of whole wheat bread, American cheese, a beefsteak tomato, and some butter, and get down to the business of making the sandwich.

"I have a letter for you to read," he announces as he watches me cook, leaning his elbows against the kitchen island.

"Who's written to me about you?"

"Well, the letter is actually addressed to me, thank you very much. It's from my cousin Madeline – she's probably the relative who knows me best. She's the daughter of my father's brother, and one of the few relatives I have who is under the age of forty. I figured a female perspective would be particularly informative in my case."

"What does the letter say?"

Edward sighs. "I haven't opened it, Bella. I didn't want to be tempted to edit it or hide it if what's in it is unflattering. So _you're_ going to have to tell _me _what it says."

"Surrender it," I command, holding out my hand and snapping my fingers. He trots into the living room to retrieve the letter from his coffee table, then brings it back and places it on the counter.

I slide his sandwich onto a plate and pour him a glass of milk. "Cheese," he moans like a total goober, biting into a corner of the sandwich. Satisfied that he's occupied for the moment, I wipe my hands on a dish towel and open the envelope in front of me.

_Edward,_

_First of all, how hard do you suck for not calling or emailing me in MONTHS? You're lame. Daddy says you haven't been home to visit your folks yet, either, and you know that's driving Auntie Liz crazy. If you don't call me by the end of this week, I'm going to tell her about the Great Brulee Torch Incident of 1997. Swear to God, I will narc you out. She still mourns the finish on that dining room table, and you'll be in a world of shit forever. Who the hell lights candles with a brulee torch, Edward? It's a miniature flame thrower, for Pete's sake._

_Okay, so you want to know what you were like growing up. Let's see. The first time I saw you, you were about two months old, I guess, which makes me about six at the time. I don't remember much about you as a baby, except that you didn't seem to sleep a lot – your eyes were always open, but you rarely cried. You just watched everyone – it was a little spooky, really. Peek-a-boo scared you – I found that out the hard way when I was trying to make nice with you and you ended up screaming your head off so hard that you projectile vomited all over my beautiful heather gray Aran cardigan. So yes, you weren't a very sociable baby._

_You liked building things. You had an endearing anal-retentive quality about you that compelled you to line everything up – didn't matter what it was, you'd be lining up cars, crayons, blocks, et cetera. You'd just line them up, sometimes stretching the line all the way from the front parlor to the pantry, which drove Helen and Baxter mental, as I recall. You didn't like other people to touch your things. I've never seen you really argue with anyone in my life; I don't know if that's because you're such an agreeable, easygoing person, or if it's because you just don't like confrontation. Probably a combination of both, I'd guess._

_You watched a lot of AMC because that's what Baxter and Helen watch. Remember how they used to dance around the kitchen like Fred and Ginger? You wanted to be Fred Astaire for Halloween three years in a row – I think Auntie Liz thought the sight of you in a little tuxedo was the cutest thing on earth, but the other kids at school got on your case because all the boys were dressed like Ghostbusters or Thundercats. I don't think you ever watched cartoons, because you never knew what was going on in them and who the players were. _

_You keep secrets really well. Remember when I was sixteen and we were all at your house for Christmas, and I snuck out to meet Thad so we could roll around in the boathouse all night? You promised to be the lookout and to radio me on the walkie if any of the folks got wise, and you never told. Thad was an ass, and I knew you didn't like him, but you did it anyway. You're loyal too._

_I think you spent too much time around adults when you were little. You never talked like a little kid, even when you were one. You were funny as hell, but very few people ever got to see that about you. I think you were probably lonely, but you always seemed pretty happy to be sitting in a corner, reading a book. We'd all be downstairs at whatever family gathering was happening, and I'd find you hours later, curled up in the window seat in the music room, fast asleep with a book on your chest. You also hated being the center of attention, and when the grown-ups forced you to play piano, you used to turn beet red and sweat like a dockworker. You were great, though – you play really well._

_I'm not sure if any of this is helpful. I'm just telling you what sticks out in my mind. I can tell you this much: you were never, ever a jerk, even when you had every right to be. You never took anything for granted. You worked your ass off and made it look easy, and you never complained. You always delivered for your parents, and I know for a fact that they brag about you constantly because Daddy's forever wondering out loud why I didn't inherit the Masen ethic gene you're peacocking all over the place. And every girl who works in my office creams when they see your picture. God's truth. I can't invite you over to visit me unless you bring a phalanx of bodyguards, because they'd have you stripped naked and trussed to the conference table on Fifteen before I even had a chance to howdy-do you and catch up. And they'd do that not even knowing all the goodies that come with the pretty package, so take that for what it's worth. I'd absolutely have your back in a knife fight, because you're a terrific guy._

_Call me, you big 'tard. Your quick email request for this doesn't count. Brulee torch. I mean it._

_Love,_

_Maddy_

I'm speechless. Edward's just finishing up his sandwich, and he's all blissed out on dairy, having no clue whatsoever about anything I've just read. He didn't even insist that I read the letter out loud. If I had never met him, if I had no first-hand experience of him whatsoever, this letter would have made me fall in love with him sight-unseen. I don't think anyone would write a letter like this about me; well, maybe Alice, but she'd be the only one. I clear my throat to let him know I'm finished reading.

"Well?" He's clearly only slightly curious about the contents. "What does Maddy have to say? She's a nut, but she's my favorite relative. You'd never know it if you met her today, but she was kind of a riotgrrl back in her days at Vassar. Marlboro Reds, motorcycle, jet-black hair, Doc Martens, the works. She's tame now, though – married and a senior partner at a big law firm doing corporate merger and restructuring contract work. She rarely gets to talk crazy these days, except to people who knew her when, so I'm sure the letter is full of expletives and attitude. Rose reminds me of her a little."

"It's not, really. But she obviously loves you. She says very nice things about you, and makes it a point to mention that every woman in her office wants you, so yeah, shooting fish in a barrel over there if you're so inclined. She also threatens you with a brulee torch confession if you don't call her by the end of this week."

His eyes open wide at this. "She wouldn't _dare_. Can I see, please?" It's his letter, and yet he's asking my permission to read it. I feel like some kind of postal dominatrix now, and there's a piece of me that wonders what he'd do if I just refused. It's a small piece, and not a very logical one, but I can't deny its existence. I move past my psychosis and hand him the sheet of paper. He scans the first paragraph in disbelief. "That is so low. She must be really ticked off – I have to call her tomorrow."

"She sounds great – I'd love to meet her."

"You will, whether you want to or not," Edward laughs. "Once mother spills the beans about the fact that I have a girlfriend, Maddy will make it her mission in life to find you and tell you every embarrassing story she's been saving up on me throughout my entire life." He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. " Ugh - can we move this conversation into the living room? All the tryptophan in that sandwich is making me want to curl up on the couch. Or maybe that's you. You, and the tryptophan."

"I thought tryptophan was really a turkey thing."

"Well, cheese has loads more tryptophan in it than a serving of turkey does."

"Huh," I respond, because what else do you say when given information like that? I join Edward on the couch. He puts his head in my lap again and I place my hand on his forehead. He reaches up with one hand to absentmindedly stroke the side of my ribcage closest to him, running the backs of his fingers gently up and down and up again, the action creating a sensation not unlike a pleasant and tolerable tickle.

"So Maddy says you watched a lot of movies with Helen and Baxter when you were a child. Who are Helen and Baxter?"

"Helen's been our housekeeper since before I was born. Her husband Neil is Baxter, and he's our majordômo."

"I beg your pardon? You have a majordômo?" This information makes me freeze the stroking of his forehead and I come perilously close to slapping him instead.

"Well, _I_ don't have a majordômo," he clarifies. "You'd have noticed him around here if I did. Baxter belongs to my parents."

"Exactly how wealthy are your parents?"

He shrugs, but it doesn't look entirely casual to my eye. "I don't know how you'd define it, really. They don't own their own jet or private tropical island, and there are no buildings on Wacker Drive bearing the family name. But it's certainly fair to say that they're more than comfortably circumstanced."

"Edward…," I sense that this is a half-truth, and even though I'm starting to get a little jittery, I need to know what I'm facing. It's now possible that in addition to the strain of just meeting his parents next week, I'll be introduced to parents who turn out to be Forbes material, and that's a whole new ball of crazy for me to absorb and assimilate.

"Crap," he sighs, and closes his eyes. That's a bad, bad sign, as far as I'm concerned. "Look, it shouldn't really matter what my parents have, right? I mean, it's not mine; I make my own way, I pay my own rent and don't rely on them to fund anything at all. I have a trust from my Granny Muir, and that sits largely untouched because there's nothing I need."

"The whole story, please."

"Bella. Shit," he grumbles, sitting up to face me. "Okay, I'll tell you, but first you have to promise not to get all weird about it, okay?"

"I promise nothing of the kind, and reserve the right to freak out as much as I need to."

"Fine. I hate this. Fine. They're really very well-off. I mean, not like Warren Buffett, but yes, they're rich. My father didn't come from a wealthy background, but he's done incredibly well given his specialized knowledge and the respect with which he's viewed in the medical community. My mother – oh, hell, I can't say it."

"Say it. Whatever it is, it's probably nowhere near as bad as what my imagination would develop."

He eyes me dolefully. "God, I hope you're right. You're going to _hate_ this, I know you are. My mother's family is old money. Old and upper-crusty."

"How old? How upper-crusty?"

"Please don't freak out. Just please don't. She's Dame Elizabeth."

I'm momentarily confused. Why did he call his mother a dame? Did I wander into _South Pacific_ without noticing? And then it hits me. Dame. As in, you know, a _title_, not just a West Side word to describe a woman.

"So, she has a title? She's a member of the Peerage, is what you're trying to tell me?"

He shakes his head. "It's a Scottish baronetcy, and they're not technically members of the Peerage. Most of those titles don't pass through the distaff side, but there are a handful of Scottish baronetcies which do. My mother claims one of them, even though very few people here know about it."

"Your mother is a Baroness?" In my head, I move from _South Pacific_ to _The Sound of Music_, because I'm apparently going to go insane with Rogers and Hammerstein as a soundtrack this evening. I giggle a little because I discover that the sensation of slipping into madness is a bit like stepping onto a moving walkway at a large airport with your eyes closed.

"No, she's a Baronetess. There's a difference. It's not as though she and the Queen have sleepovers and watch _Grease_ together."

"Well, that's bad, but I guess it's not _too_ bad," I say, laughing with relief. "I mean, you're an American, so it's not as though you're eligible to have the title passed down to you." Maybe I'll be able to get to a point at which I can tease him about this. I'll call him "Guv'nor", or "His Nibs".

Edward looks down and doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he looks back up at me, and he's very somber and almost wincing. "Bella, I have two passports. I have dual citizenship. Eventually, the title goes to me."

_You've got to be kidding me. In the fullness of time, my boyfriend, the beautiful dork currently sitting next to me on a cheese high, will be known as Sir Edward. _

"Shut. _Up._" It's all I can force out of my mouth, this hallowed Exclamation of the Airhead. "Just shut. _Up._"

"I know. Now you see why I wouldn't exactly be spreading that kind of information around. Eric found out by accident, and he called me Little Lord Fauntleroy for the rest of our first year in med school before I begged him to knock it off."

"Jesus, Edward. So, what, now? When I meet your mother, I get to be Wallis Simpson in this scenario? Or – wait – maybe I'm Eliza Dolittle. This'll be fun. What a hoot. The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain." The internal iPod of Insanity has shuffled over to Lerner and Loewe.

"_Stop_," he says, getting slightly angry with me. "I know it's not funny. You won't be the first Yank in the family. Are you forgetting my mother married an American too? She'll love you, I promise."

_Married. He said 'married'. He said 'married', while I spent several quality moments earlier this evening wondering how to broach the subject of scheduling our nights together in such a way that he wouldn't think I was begging to shack up. And he says 'married', and 'too'. I had the nerve to be all smug about my sex talk with Renee. I'm a rank amateur in the "freak out" stakes._

"I don't think I want to talk about this any more right now," I say. My head is spinning and I feel a little queasy. It's late and we need to get some sleep. Was coming here tonight a mistake?

"Bella, _please_," he begs, grabbing both of my hands in his. "None of that stuff matters. None of it is who I am. If you're going to freak out, at least have the decency to freak out over something real, like what happened in Chicago. _That_ was totally my fault. None of the money or the title was my doing in any way, and I'm sorry, but you're a hypocrite if you're going to view me any differently because of it."

I look at him in shock, because the point he's making is a good one. Is he in any material way, in any meaningful way, a different person at this moment than he was an hour ago, when I knew nothing about this? And the answer is of course he's not. I told him that I loved him, and that what I found out about him now were just things I'd need to accept or ignore. Here's the first test of that promise, and I'm balking at the fence. My level of distress isn't diminished by one iota, but I can't deny his logic, and I need to let him see that.

I reach over to put my arms around him. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm sorry – it's just a lot to take in." He hugs me back, relaxing against me. "What's wrong with you?" I whisper into his ear.

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "But I'm doing my best to figure it out, I swear."

Now I have to laugh at him, because he's misunderstood me. "No, Edward. I mean 'what's wrong with you' in the sense that I keep expecting to find some hideous flaw in you, and you stubbornly refuse to show me one."

"Well, if you don't see them, I'm certainly not going to help you by pointing them out," he smiles. "I've got all I can do to try and fix what you already know about." He stretches his legs and stands up, offering me his hand. "Come on, let's go upstairs. It's late, and you have a long day tomorrow."

We head to the bedroom and get ready for sleep. We settle in next to each other on the big bed, wrapping arms and legs around until we're so close we could easily manage to bunk in a camp cot for all the space our two bodies are occupying. Edward flips the switch on the bedside lamp, and we start to breathe quietly against each other as sleep rolls in. I can't help myself.

"Goodnight, your Lordship," I murmur with a grin against his neck. "I expect you'll be riding to hounds in the morning."

"Sure, laugh it up, sweetheart. But while you do, you might want to consider the fact that if you're in it for the long haul, you'll be Lady Bella," he grins back into my forehead. "Something my father didn't have to worry about, as he never had to share the title with my mother."

_Holy shit. He's really the High Priest of Freakout, and he knows just where the weak spots are. Ignore him, Bella. Don't let him see you sweat._

"Breathe, Bella," Edward suggests. "And know that if you keep teasing me, I'm going to start calling you Duchess. Often and loudly, in front of as many people as I can."

When I get to rehearsal on Thursday, I see that James has returned to the fold. His eye is still an ugly shade of yellowish black and a little swollen, but he seems fine otherwise and everyone's happy to have him back. He's very quiet, but he keeps shooting me these odd glances when he thinks I'm not paying attention. The looks are difficult to assign any meaning to. They aren't sexual or flirtatious, but neither are they innocent and appraising. They confuse and disturb me, but he doesn't make any effort to bridge the distance between us and I certainly don't feel comfortable asking him what's going on, so I take the coward's way out and say nothing.

Edward presses two more letters into my hand: the first is from Helen, the housekeeper, and the second is from someone named Julian. Edward explains that Julian was his roommate at Dartmouth during junior year, and I recall that it was during that time that he claims girls first started noticing him.

Helen's letter is unbearably sweet. She clearly adores him and views him as her precious baby, so I get paragraph after paragraph of reverie about how funny and cute he was as a boy. Some of the references are obscure – I need to ask Edward who or what "Tom-Tom" is, and it turns out that Tom-Tom was his blankie. He groans when I ask about it, but offers the information freely all the same. Helen talks about how he loved to sit in the kitchen with her and Baxter, drinking Ovaltine and watching old movies while she made dinner for the family. He had an uncanny ability to memorize dialogue, and would quote all the lines after seeing a film more than once or twice. His first crush was Rita Hayworth, and I think back to the fact that Alice believes she could transform me into a modern-day version of the screen siren with the sad personal story.

Julian's letter is far more brief, and significantly heavier on the "hey man"s, but it offers good insight into what campus life was like for Edward. Julian's apparently still a little ticked that the Munroe twins followed Edward around like groupies ("Ed, man, how the hell did you not tap the twins? Twins, bro. _Penthouse_ Letter of the Month for sure."), and the letter tells him what an ass he was for not taking better advantage of the many, many, many opportunities which came his way that year. I do learn that Edward got extremely drunk at a Halloween kegger and Julian found him with his pants around his ankles behind the large frat house television set. No fewer than six girls claimed to be responsible for the situation, but Edward would never tell who the actual perpetrator was. I ask him about it, and his sheepish answer is that he didn't tell largely because he had no idea who it was himself, and the whole incident started because he'd half-crashed on the sofa in the tv room to watch _Young Frankenstein_.

I wander over to Alice while the guys are onstage listening to Don John spin his web of lies about Hero.

"Hey," I say, and bump her gently with my shoulder.

"Hey yourself," she grins. "Was your amazing race for late-night nookie worth it?"

I frown at her. "We almost got arrested by Pete for making out in the middle of an intersection, and we didn't have sex, but I did learn some genuinely terrifying information about Edward last night."

"Wait – do you mean you didn't have sex in the intersection, or you didn't have sex at all, anywhere, last night?"

"Al, as usual, you're focusing on the sex tree instead of the genuinely-terrifying-information forest," I lament.

"What, then? Tell me," Alice commands, her eyes widening as she takes in my expression. The action onstage has moved on to Dogberry and Verges, so Jasper wanders over to join us as well.

I hesitate, and Alice pokes me sharply on my bicep. "Don't hold back in front of Jasper. Anything I know, he'll probably find out about sooner or later."

"Wow, that's comforting, Al. I need to start editing around you now."

Jasper snorts. "Don't fret, Swan. Half the time she's talking, I'm trying to untangle something she told me the hour before that. You know conversations with her are a bit like solving a Rubik's Cube."

Alice stamps her foot impatiently. "And still I don't have your news. What's up?"

I have no idea how to broach this topic, so I'm just going to put it out there. "Well, it's like this: Edward's parents are wealthy enough to have to employ a majordômo, and his mother is a Baronetess. Edward's going to inherit the title eventually." I laugh a little after I get the words out.

There's silence for a moment, and I watch them try to work out what it is that I've said. Finally, Jasper whistles through his teeth. "Woooh, doggie. Why's he slumming it in Port Angeles?"

The words cause my stomach to clench uncomfortably because I suddenly equate Port Angeles with myself. I don't have the answer. Edward sees us with our heads together, and I'm sure he intuits that the conversation is about him, so he strolls over to assess the damage. One look at my face is enough to fill him in, and he sighs before turning his gaze toward Alice and Jasper.

"Look, it's just a baronetcy. It's really not that big a deal. I wish to God I hadn't said anything about it now, but I'm on a mission to tell Bella everything about me."

Jasper claps him on the back. "You're out of your ever-lovin' mind, son. I have no idea why you felt the need to pretend to be other people when all you have to do is just mention stuff like this to have panties dropping all around you. Hell, if I had that kind of material to work with before I met Alice, I'd have printed it on seven different t-shirts and worn the information on my chest in a new color every day of the week."

"You'd never have needed to," Alice purrs at him, making his eyes go all soft and stupid.

"Are you implying Edward would?" I say it defensively, because the mere suggestion that Edward has to be anything other than breathing in order to be outrageously wantable is insulting to me and to him. Alice shakes her head vehemently, and I back down, realizing that she's so hyper-focused on all things Jasper that she said what she said without thinking about any possible ramifications beyond how good it might make him feel.

Jasper throws his arm around Alice's shoulder. "You know my dad's a baron too. A cattle baron," he grins. "We've got more fertilizer than we can use in several lifetimes." She snuggles into his embrace as though he's just informed her that the cows shat diamonds.

Alice has just one question, and she poses it now. "Will Bella get a tiara?"

That cracks Edward up. "If she'd like one, sure."

Satisfied on all points, Alice nods. "I agree that it's a total redundancy on your part, Edward. You and Jasper both really need to start spreading some of this stuff around to the less fortunate among you. You two are like Tootsie Pops."

"So, none of you are going to be weird about this, right? Can you just kind of forget it now?" Edward is half-pleading as he says this.

"Hell no, Lord Jim. I'm all about working this information into every conversation I have tonight," Jasper smirks.

"Please. Don't," Edward implores. "I mean it. I'm begging you."

"Just pullin' your leg. Of course, I expect you to repay the favor of my discretion by setting me up with my own fiefdom."

Alice releases her grip on Jasper to stroke my arm soothingly. "It's okay, Bel. Roll with it. How much worse can it get?"

I throw a baleful glance in Edward's direction, which makes him laugh. "I don't know. Maybe he's sitting on a cure for cancer, or he's figured out the global warming situation. His arsenal is apparently deep and far-reaching."

"No, no, I swear, I'm not nearly that important to the future of mankind. At this point in time, that is."

As we're driving back to his house after rehearsal, Edward seems pensive. "What's up?" I ask, because I can't stand not knowing what he's thinking.

"Nothing, really," he answers. "I'm just – well, a little nervous, to be honest. I'm think I'm going to call Tanya tomorrow."

I know it's irrational, but I'm momentarily paralyzed with jealousy. "Oh."

"Would you like to be there when I make the call? If you want to hear her side of the story, I really think that shouldn't happen with a letter. It's entirely up to you, though."

I don't know about this. Do I want to hear her voice, this person who lived with him before I knew him? This person he hurt with his lies? Would it make it more difficult for her to know that he's with me now, that he's trying to give me something she didn't get from him? I don't want her to be in any more pain than she might already suffer.

"I think maybe it would be better for her if she didn't have to deal with me," I conclude. "I don't know how she felt about you. If our situations were reversed, I think it would be devastating for me to have the new girl on the line for a conversation like this. But if she does want to talk to me, for whatever reason, I'd be willing to do that after you've finished saying what you need to say to her."

"Okay. You're right. I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have. I just want to tell her how sorry I am, because I don't think there's anything else I can do about it now."

"Do you think you could have loved her, Edward? I mean, if you'd have just been yourself?" The idea of him loving someone else is like a knife in my heart.

He's very serious as he turns to me. "Bella, I honestly don't think I'm capable of loving anyone but you. Until the night I saw you in the hospital, every woman I ran into was just a character to me. Someone who looked like somebody else. I'm not saying that they weren't nice, or that they didn't have qualities I might have liked if I'd have been able to stop being such a freak around them. But until I met you, nobody was real. Also, I never _wanted_ to love anyone before I met you. And that's probably the biggest difference right there. I think you're my one-shot deal at this. No pressure, though," he laughs nervously.

"_Why_?" I can't help it – I have to ask the question. "I mean, really, why? I get that I'm smart, and not difficult to look at, and I think I'm a pretty nice person. But you're completely off the charts on so many levels. You fence, for the love of God." This will likely make no sense to him whatsoever, but it makes perfect sense to me, as I suspect it would to any right-thinking woman.

"Christ, Bella, how am I supposed to answer that question? Why is my favorite color blue? Why do I like fall better than spring? Why can't you just accept that I feel the way I feel about you? Why are you always trying to talk me out of it?" He's laughing, but he's also totally frustrated with me now.

"I just need you to be sure," I say in a small voice. "I'm sure, and I need to know that you're as sure as I am. Because Edward, I think you're my one-shot deal at this too. No pressure back at you."

"Do you honestly think I horde dozens of copies of the _Encyclopedia Edwartannica_ in my garage so I can hand them out like the Jehovah's Witnesses hand out _The Watchtower_? I'm very sure, Bella, and that's got to be good enough for you. It's certainly good enough for me."

"All right, then," I smile. "Just please quit freaking me out with these bizarre ninja skills and credentials you keep pulling out from behind your back like nunchucks. I can't take any more – they totally throw me off my game, and they make my attempts to unnerve you look pathetic in comparison. Seriously, if you _are_ planning to discover a cure for cancer, at least wait until I finish the Sunday crossword puzzle before you break it to me, is what I'm saying."

"Are you really suggesting that I keep a cure for cancer to myself until you've figured out what a six letter word for ridiculous might be?"

"Oh, I'd get that one right off, no worries, because I only have two choices. That'd be absurd. Or E-D-W-A-R-D."

"You're insanely hot when you do the word thing, you know."

"I know. I may not be descended from rocket scientists or royalty, but at least I do have that going for me," I say, and kiss him on the temple. I have faith in Edward. I need to have the same faith in myself.

# # #

**A/N** – You're more than good enough, Bella. Quit torturing yourself, even though Edward's unbearably awesome. We're one week away from opening night and parental visitations complete with self-warming oils, free hippy lovin' and titled mamas. Meanwhile, what's up with James being all freaky? I can't tell you…yet.

Please take a moment out of your hectic life to write a little review. They put the gas in my writing tank, and I honestly love hearing from you!


	18. Love looks not with the eyes

**A/N** – Glory be, every time I turn around, I've made a dozen new friends via PMs for this story. It thrills me no end that you're reading along, and I only hope I keep on giving you what you came here for. Bardward stole all the really good love words, so all I can say is you make me very, very happy, all of you.

Twilight is entirely owned and operated by Stephanie Meyer. I'm trespassing, but I will pick up after myself and leave everything just as I found it.

Jeepers. Tanya, bearing a day of reckoning for Edward. Here she comes…

# # #

Love looks not with the eyes

EPOV

I'm seriously the luckiest son of a gun who ever drew breath. I have no idea what I've done to deserve the honor, but I'm incredibly grateful for it all the same.

I know I freaked Bella out with the whole my-mother-is-a-dame-no-for-real-she-is announcement, but she didn't scamper off. You can't really sneak up on someone like Bella and drop information like that into casual conversation, but I wanted to tell her everything, and now…now she knows it all. Well, almost. I haven't told her about Dad possibly being named the next Surgeon General, because it's not definite yet, and I haven't told her that I really, really want at least four kids, because I'm thinking I should hold off on volunteering that information until she initiates a conversation about what kind of family she's looking to have. I mean, hell, if she says she wants an even dozen, I don't want to scare her off the idea by estimating on the low side. I want our children to have loads of company in each other. I want them to make a ton of noise and argue and play and sit around a big dinner table every night feeding vegetables to the dog when they think we aren't looking. I don't want to raise lonely kids who'll have to turn to celluloid for companionship and advice.

Other than that, though, there's nothing left in the bag, and she's still not running away, so I'm feeling pretty great about our chances from here on in. I just want to climb the mountain of regret I have about Tanya, and once I reach that summit, I'm totally asking Bella to move in with me, because I can't be begging her to come over every night like a total idiot.

It's not that I'm too proud to beg Bella for just about anything. I have no self-control and no shame where she's concerned, and I'll stop at nothing to make her mine in every conceivable way, under every conceivable law, in every conceivable position. It's just that I know she's trying to show me she has no expectations about us whatsoever, and that stumps me. How can she not have expectations? I have a million of them, and find new ones that spring up like mushrooms under my feet every minute. If I thought it wouldn't send her screaming into the abyss, I'd ask her to marry me today, but I know my beautiful girl well enough at this point to understand that she's a cautious kitten, and needs to do things in stages. Given my past, that makes sense I guess. I'm just going to have to make sure that things get done in as few stages as possible because I'm definitely not as patient about it as she appears to be.

Plus, I'd die if she said no. Just flat out die. I don't even care that I'm so Greta Garbo in _Camille_ about it. It's the truth. I can't not have her forever, and it's really that simple.

So, Tanya. I spent much of my day today trying to figure out what to say to her. My shift at the hospital was occupied with considering various opening gambits – "Hi Tanya, it's me, Edward, sorry about making you feel so awful and being such a shit to you because I didn't really care that much about you", or "Tanya, I'm a horrible person who was never honest with you, and I realize that now because I'm really in love with someone else", or "Hey, it's Edward, the coward who ran away from you because he only asked you to move in with him for the sex". None of these make me sound very nice. I don't think there's anything I can say which will make me sound very nice, because the bald truth is that I _wasn't_ very nice to her at all. I deserve whatever vitriol she hurls at me. At this point, I kind of welcome it, because if it makes her feel better, that'll be something I can give her. It's the least I can do for her. It's the most I can do for her, too.

I get out of the hospital at five, and we're not due to meet up at the Korean barbeque place until seven, so now is my time to do this. I decide that I don't want to come at Tanya cold because I have no idea where she is or what she's been up to since I left. I call Eric instead. He's with Lauren, and Tanya is one of Lauren's closest friends, so I should be able to get a little information on her before I call her cell phone.

"Hello?" Eric sounds distracted.

"Hey, Eric – it's Edward. How are you?"

I can hear Eric drop the phone and curse, then he's back on the line. "Ed? Man! Where the hell are you? I can't believe I haven't heard from you since – what? – January? What the fuck!"

"I know – I'm sorry, I really am. I needed some time to get my head straight. I should have called you sooner."

Eric laughs. "You hauled ass out of town so fast I was worried about what might come knocking on my door to find you. So where are you? I think you said you were headed somewhere in the Northwest – Oregon, maybe?"

"Port Angeles, Washington – I'm in the ER at the UW hospital here."

"Life's good?"

I can't help but smile. "Life's really good. Excellent. You?"

"I'm great too. Scannell announced he's moving to private practice, and I think – I _think_ – Legere has me on the inside track to take his place as Chief Resident. I'd be the youngest in the history of the hospital. I'm not counting on it, but man, it'd be sweet if it happens."

"Eric, congrats! That's great news," I say, because I'm really happy for him. He's the type of person who needs to be in charge of something, because he loves to tell other people what to do. "How's Lauren? She must be pretty excited too – that means better hours for you."

There's a pause on the line before Eric answers. "Uh, Lauren and I broke up in, uhm, March."

"I'm sorry, man," I offer with genuine sympathy, because I'm so stinking happy about my own love life that I genuinely hate to hear a friend is going through rough times with his. "Want to talk about it?"

More pause. That's not like Eric, and it's weirding me out. "Nah, I'm good. I'm, uh, actually with someone else now, and it's really great. Really great."

"You sure? You sound a little…I don't know, strange."

Eric takes a deep breath. "Tanya. I'm with Tanya now, okay?"

_Jesus juggling Christ on a unicycle. I did NOT see that coming._

"You're with Tanya? What happened?"

"Look, Ed, you left an ungodly mess behind you. I'm not gonna lie. And I was pretty pissed off that you just dumped and ran, because who the hell did you think was going to get stuck with that carnage? Me, that's who. Not that I didn't do my best to avoid it, but with Lauren under the same roof, it was kind of impossible, right? I mean, Tanya moved in with us after you left because she had no place to live. She was really broken up about the whole thing. Girl was a mess, and she just kept trying to figure out what she'd done to make it so bad for you."

His words slice through me like a scalpel. "Nothing," I choke. "She did _nothing_. It was all me. I was a total bastard."

"I know it. I really thought – you know, your deal with women – that it didn't apply to her, because why the hell would you have asked her to live with you if you were still doing that? Didn't make any sense to me. But she didn't know you like I do, so I had to explain it to her, and that just made her feel like crap. She's a nice girl, Ed. She didn't deserve any of that."

I can't breathe. Everything I was trying not to think about is suddenly laid out before me, showing me exactly what an unworthy asshole I am. There's a big part of me that wants to put this call with Eric on hold so that I can dial Bella and tell her to run the hell away from me as fast as she can because I don't deserve all her smiles, and her trust, and her love, and every other amazing thing she gives me. She should save it and give it to someone who isn't capable of the kind of deception and deceit I've visited on an innocent, nice person like Tanya.

"I left because I couldn't stand the fact that I did that to her. I just didn't want to be that guy, Eric, so I left and got as far away as possible. I wanted to try to figure out how to not do that ever again, and I wasn't having much luck with it until – until I met this girl. Bella. And she's just everything to me, and I'm doing everything I can to make sure I don't repeat the same mistakes I made with Tanya. I'm really, really sorry. Sorry I hurt her, and sorry I left you to clean up after me."

"You should be, Ed," he says flatly. "You should have grown some balls and dealt with it. She's not some bar chick, and you treated her like a one-off."

"I know. I know. I was actually calling you to see if you knew where she was, because I want to tell her how sorry I am, and I want to give her a chance to scream her head off at me because I deserve it."

"Well I'm not sure I want her talking to a prick like you, but I'll ask her and see what she wants to do. She'll be home in about fifteen minutes."

"Can I ask how you two got together?"

I can hear Eric smile. "It was pretty simple, really. I was pulling a lot of late shifts, and I'd get home long after Lauren had gone to bed. But Tanya's a night owl, and we'd sit up and talk for hours about all kinds of stuff. Just talk, because unlike you, I'm not a selfish shit. We were really just friends. And the more I talked to her, the more I liked her, and the more I found that we had in common. Meanwhile, Lauren was getting colder and bitchier all the time – she hated the hours I keep and how being on-call every other weekend ties me down. One day, she just announced that it wasn't working out between us, and that she was going to look for another apartment. She wasn't too bad about it, actually; I think we both just realized that it wasn't going to go anywhere, and Lauren's not one to waste her time. Tanya found another place to live, but we kept up a ritual of late night phone calls to check in with each other and hash out the day. She was nervous that she was going to be a rebound for me, so we kept it very light and friendly until sometime in early June. And then the floodgates just kind of opened up, and here we are."

"And you guys are good?"

"We're better than good. We're great. She's great. I mean, like, The One. I think you're a total idiot for letting her go, but your loss is most definitely my gain."

"She was never mine to begin with, Eric, and I'm glad you two managed to find a pony under all the manure I made."

"Nothing you say ever makes sense. You do realize that, don't you?" Eric's laughing at me, and I'm hoping that this isn't a friendship I'm going watch him scuttle because I was an idiot to the woman he loves.

"I know. Bella's pretty much the only one who can translate me," I grin.

"What's her story? How did you guys meet, and how the hell did she turn you into something normal, if in fact that's what she's done?" I tell him all about Bella, and the play, and how I just knew from the moment I saw her that she was different.

"You sound different, man," Eric says.

"You too," I answer. "It's great. And I'm glad you're not going to kill me. You're not going to kill me, right?"

"Nah, I'm not going to kill you. I'm too happy to kill you. But Tanya's welcome to kick the shit out of you with my blessing, if she chooses."

"Of course she is. Of course. Hell, I'd be glad to line up an assortment of weapons for her. I wish I could see you guys in person – it's been too long, and I'd love to apologize face to face. Give her a chance to slap me around."

"Come back for a visit, then. I'm sure your folks are climbing the walls without you."

"They're actually coming up here next weekend to see the play I'm in. You guys are more than welcome to join us, if you'd like." Is that a good idea? Ah, well – the words are out, the invitation extended, and I can hardly retract them now.

"I'll leave that up to Tanya," Eric equivocates. "She'll really be home in a sec. If she doesn't want to talk to you, I'll call you back and let you know. And if she does, she'll call you herself. Either way, I'd keep my phone on if I were you, because I don't think you're going to get a second bite at that apple."

We hang up. I'm feeling so unsteady in the face of this proof that I was such a jerk. All I can think is that I really need to hear Bella's voice right now, to remind myself that she exists and she loves me. I need a dose of her, because she's what ties me to reality. I dial her number and pray I don't get voicemail.

"Ah, Baronet Masen, how good of you to call," she says as she answers the phone, and just the sound of her voice renders me weak at the knees. It also instantly makes me feel better that she clearly plans on torturing me with this information, because it means she's not afraid of it in the least. Bella's equilibrium has been re-established.

"Duchess," I hiss back playfully. "I'm going to spend a moment before I see you tonight to figure out how to translate that into Korean for the benefit of the waitstaff at the restaurant."

"You do that," she answers calmly. "I'm nobody's Duchess, and I have witnesses to attest to the fact. You, however, are not so lucky, because all our friends will be on my side."

"You've got me there," I admit with a sad sigh. "Nobody's on my side, ever."

"I'm on your side, Edward. I'm always on your side," her voice smiles gently at me. "Have you – did you speak to…her, yet?"

"Not yet. I spoke to Eric, though, and he was the bearer of interesting news. Seems that he and Tanya are together now. He broke up with Lauren in the spring, and started dating Tanya sometime in June."

Bella's quiet for a moment. "Well, that's good news for both of them if they're happy. But it doesn't absolve you of your responsibility to her, you know."

"I know. I know. I'm waiting to see if she'll agree to speak with me now. I just needed to hear your voice first."

"This is my voice, telling you to apologize to her and let her tell you how much you hurt her."

"That's my plan. I'll admit, though, that I feel much better about being so happy myself now that I know she's happy as well."

"I feel better too. I hope she calls you back. If she doesn't, you need to keep trying."

"I will. Incidentally, are you aware that the correct form of address for a Duchess is 'Your Grace'? Kind of ironic, really, given your propensity for stumbling around on flat surfaces."

"Flatterer. Wait until Rose has her brain wrapped around this information. Dinner tonight should be extremely entertaining – for most of us, at any rate."

"I absolutely want to jump you when you're being mean to me – it's a bit sick. But then again, I pretty much want to jump you all the time no matter what's coming out of your mouth, so I suppose it's not all that surprising," I muse. "You really make me go a little stupid. I found myself smiling and staring absently into a biohazard bin this afternoon for no apparent reason, as though it held the key to the mysteries of the universe. It did little to inspire my patient with any kind of confidence in my diagnostic abilities."

"I make you stupid?" she laughs. "Evidence contained in your transcripts to the contrary, of course, and IQ test results notwithstanding."

"Ask around the hospital if you don't believe me. I'm high on you all day, but you don't show up in a urine test. It's the best."

"I love you, you stupid man. I love you stupidly. Do the right thing. See you in an hour."

"I love you too," I grin, and disconnect the call, feeling as though I've just had a shower and a full night's peaceful rest. I could take on the armies of Sparta single-handedly now.

Two minutes later, my phone rings again. The 312 area code informs me that it's Chicago calling, and another glance tells me that it's Tanya's cell number. Okay, then. Here goes nothing.

"Hello, Tanya," I answer cautiously.

"Edward," she says. She doesn't sound angry – instead, she sounds little, and timid, and that makes me feel impossibly worse than her anger ever could.

"Oh, Tanya, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I swear to God, I never meant to hurt you," I rush these words out as quickly as possible. I hear Eric in the background – he's murmuring something to her. She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, she sounds stronger.

"You really hurt me, Edward. You destroyed me. Even though Eric explained everything about you, and even though I sort of understand it now, and even though I have Eric and I'm happier than I ever thought I could be, I hate what you did to me. I hate that you made me feel like I was good enough to toss around in bed, but not good enough to know you."

_Jesus. I'm shit._

"All my fault. All of it. It had NOTHING to do with you," I manage to say.

"Yeah, Edward, you know what? You can say that all you like, and I hope it makes you feel better. But the truth is that it DID have something to do with me, because I was there, I was right there while it was happening. It was happening to _me._ You act as though you can say it was all you and somehow I should understand that you have issues and it's not supposed to affect me, but it did. It does. And Eric's had to deal with all of that for you, because you just ran away. Those lies you told me about yourself, about who you are and how you felt? That wasn't a game to me. That was real."

"I know. I wish to God I could take it all back. I wish I could just erase it all, or make it better, but I don't know how to do that. You have every reason in the world to hate my guts, and I hate my guts when I think about how I hurt you. It wasn't intentional, but the net result is the same. I left because I never wanted it to happen again. I didn't want to hurt you or anyone else, ever again."

Tanya covers the mouthpiece for a moment and then returns to the line. "Eric tells me you're seeing someone out there. Please tell me you're not doing this again. Please tell me you're not being Tom Cruise, or Tom Hanks, or Tom Selleck with her. Because if you're doing this again, Edward, so help me God, I will make sure that every woman in every town you ever live in knows the truth about who you really are."

"No, I swear, it's all me. I work very hard to only tell her the absolute truth about myself. Sometimes it scares the hell out of me, but I do it anyway, because I don't ever want to do what I did to you again." I don't ever want to do that to Bella. I want to be a real boy. I am a real boy. And if I'd only been a real boy in Chicago, I never would have gotten that close to Tanya. I can't say that to her, because it sounds cruel in my head even if it is the truth and I don't mean it in a bad way. She doesn't need that truth from me.

"I'm happy for you. I really am. I'm happy for you, because I believe that despite what happened between us, you're not an awful person. But let me ask you this: what would you do if you found out that everything she said to you about herself and how she felt was a lie?"

The thought alone makes me want to vomit. If Bella isn't real, then nothing is real. I couldn't believe anything, ever again, if Bella was a lie.

"Are you getting it now?" Tanya asks softly. "I hope so, Edward. I really hope so. I'm not saying that I loved you, because it turns out I didn't even know you. I love Eric, and it's so different from anything I felt when I was with you. But I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust. You made me doubt myself."

And now I understand why Bella was so burned by that douche in New York. I didn't do it on purpose, I didn't do it with malice aforethought, but I was selfish and stupid and careless with another person, with someone who trusted me, and that caused just as much damage as it would have if I'd gone into the thing looking to hurt her.

Tanya takes a deep breath. "Okay, that's done. I've said everything I think I needed to say, except thank God for Eric. Really, thank God for him. If I had to crawl through the experience of you in order to get to him, it was worth it and I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat." I can hear them kiss briefly before she starts talking again. "I know he's your friend, and I hope that this little clearing of the air that we've just done means that you and I can be friends too. I don't want to hate you anymore, because I don't need to hate you anymore. What do you think?"

"I'd really like that, Tanya. I wish there was something more I could do to make it up to you. I only hope you know how sorry I am."

"I know you are. And if you want to make it up to me, you'll sweat blood to make sure the girl you're with now doesn't ever have to go through something like this because of you. It would've been better and easier all the way around if you'd have just punched me a few times, because those bruises don't take as long to heal. And Edward – thank you for calling, and for wanting to make things right. The fact that you did makes me think I'm right to believe that you're not a complete asshole," she smiles.

"I feel like one. But I'm working on it," I answer. "Thank you for letting me apologize. It's more than I deserve from you."

Tanya laughs. "Yes, it is. But I'm in love, and I'm really happy, so I can afford to be generous."

I tell her about the play, and let her know that I've invited them up to see it if they're interested. She says she'll talk it over with Eric, but that she knows he'd love to see me because even though he's been pissed at me, I'm still one of his closest friends and he's really missed me. She doesn't have to add that it'd be good to break the ice between us too. If she's going to be in Eric's life, and he's going to be in mine, then we're going to have to figure out a way to get comfortable with that.

We hang up with a promise that I'll hear from them in a day or two to let me know if they're coming up. I feel totally wrecked by the phone call. All I can think about is going to wherever Bella is at the moment and holding her as close to me as I possibly can, so I tear over to the restaurant and pace in front of it until everyone arrives.

Thank God, she's the first one to get there. I see her walking across the grassy mall in front of town hall. She must have dropped her briefcase off at her car before heading over, because her hands are free, swinging loosely at her sides. The brilliant rays of the early September sun set her long hair on fire, bringing out the deep reds and warm browns and dark ambers there and turning her pale skin to satin blush. She has a small smile on her lips, a smile that ignites and overtakes her entire face when she sees me standing here, waiting for her. Jesus Christ, I don't deserve to have her look at me that way. Even from across the street, I can see the joy in her eyes, and the love, and the anticipation. It staggers me, and I can feel my own eyes start to water. How the hell do I rate that reaction from her? I've been a monster, and yet she looks at me as though I'm the only man in the whole universe.

My arms reach impatiently for her before she's even halfway across the street, and the moment I touch her, every nerve in my body shivers with pleasure at the contact.

"Hey-" she says, but I don't let her finish, because I need to crush her against me with every ounce of strength I've got, and I need to cover her sweet mouth with mine. I want to fuse her to me, literally weld her body onto mine, because it's only when I'm with her that everything in the universe feels right and real and good.

"Easy, Edward," she gasps when I let her take a breath. "Are you okay?" She looks up into my face and her brow creases. "No, you're not okay. Want to talk about it?"

She's so gentle with me, running her soft hands up and down my arms in a gesture meant to soothe me. Ah, God, her touch feels so good that I ache from it, everything she touches just wants more of the same, more and closer. I twist my hands into her hair and gently pull her head to my chest, her head on my heart, my heart so full of her before she's even near it. I want to crawl under her skin and live there, and that might finally be close enough.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, when I can rally the brain cells to form a few words. "I'm so sorry that someone hurt you. I really get it now."

She nods her head against me. "I'm glad she helped you understand. But you know, it's what comes after you make that kind of mistake that's the difference between a good person and a bad person."

"I will never, ever hurt you, Bella. I swear it. I just want to be good to you. I just want to love you."

"You can't promise me that you'll never hurt me, because you might. But when or if you do, promise me that you'll do everything you can to make it better, and that's enough for me."

Out of nowhere, I hear Rose's voice. "You two are pathetic," she snorts. "Quit groping each other and let's get to Korean barbequing."

When I pick my head up, I see that Rose is flanked by Emmett, Jasper, and Alice, and they're watching us as though we were the main ring attraction at Ringling Brothers.

Alice decides that she's going to ease the tension. "Rose? Don't you know it's extremely gauche for common folk to address the gentry so informally?"

Rose has apparently taken possession of the information about the baronetcy while I was busy letting Bella know she's safe with me. "Well, if Sir Weepsalot here would keep his whispers and sighs confined to less public venues, I could pretend not to notice what a wuss he is," she says acidly. "Honestly, guy, you, with the drama. I need to put some fire under some raw meat, and you're in the middle of some kind of sidewalk soap opera. Knock it off."

"And so it begins," I mutter darkly. Bella just laughs. We walk into the restaurant and arrange ourselves around a papa-bear-sized version of the smaller table Bella and I occupied a few weeks ago. Alice immediately freaks out over the strange bowls of stuff the waitress puts on the table, and I'm treated to the sight of Emmett slamming down six of the salty little fish in a row like there's some kind of prize at the end of this for him.

"This isn't a frathouse stunt, you baboon," Rose chides. We order what seems to be the entire left-hand side of the menu, along with several different bottles of soju at Emmett's insistence. It tastes like sweet hooch, and after we polish off three bottles the waitress tells us it's 120 proof, which explains why eyes all around the table are rolling gently to and fro about an hour into dinner. It takes me precisely four and a half minutes of serious contemplation on the subject to determine that I'm a trifle snockered, and another six minutes of careful scrutiny around me to decide that nobody at our table, including Alice, she of the indestructible liver, is faring much better.

I time this all with my watch, because I'm the kind of slightly paranoid drunk who doesn't enjoy losing that much control over situations.

As entertaining as these people are sober, they ratchet up the hilarity when they're moderately toasted. Emmett's eyes are half-closed, and he's got a shrimp tail dangling between his lips like a cigar. Rose, who really is very attractive, becomes slightly mysterious because she's making strange mooing noises for no reason that I can easily ascertain. Ah, wait – Jasper said something about being a cattle baron again a few minutes ago, didn't he? That might explain the mooing. Maybe. Speaking of Jasper, he's got one arm around Alice and the other around Emmett. He's whispering something straight ahead, though, so it's not clear whether this is some kind of general confidence he's sharing or if he's hoping that the sound will loop back around and hit only Alice and Emmett in the ear like the fabled Kennedy magic bullet.

And Bella. I swivel my head around to look down at her. Her face is flushed and her forehead is slightly damp. She lifts her hair off the back of her neck and pulls it into a ponytail, then twists it around and around and pulls the end through the circle she's created to fashion a kind of impromptu loose bun at the nape of her neck. Oh my God, her neck. In the collection of priceless artwork that is Bella's body, her neck is like a crown jewel, and one of my favorite bits of her, as it's the first bit I fell in love with and the first bit I got to touch. I know I'm drunk, but even stone cold sober, I could never resist the sight of that neck. I lean down and nuzzle the space where the bun ends and her skin begins, just breathing the scent of her in and wanting to bottle whatever that is so I don't ever have to go a single lungful of air without it.

One of the sadder and scarier days in med school included a brief discussion of "brewer's droop", that state in which a man has consumed one too many alcoholic drinks and can no longer achieve or maintain an erection. I don't know how much of this Korean hooch I've had, but it's clearly not enough to cause an issue of that kind for me. I don't think there's enough Korean hooch in all of Korea to put me off the desire – and ability - to make love to this woman sitting next to me.

"Hooch," I say out loud into Bella's hairline, drawing out the word because it sounds good to me, and a little dirty as well for some reason.

"That tickles," she squirms, not entirely disliking it. I can tell, so I do it again. Her hand creeps slowly up my thigh this time, making me draw the word out even longer and stutter a little bit as well. I briefly contemplate the logistics of throwing her on the table right here in front of our comrades and giving her the business end of what the side of her hand is now stroking, but decide that the active barbeque pit is probably an obstacle best left to the circumnavigation of more sober horny people than we are at the moment.

"We should go?" I don't know why that comes out as a question. In my head, it was pretty forcefully declarative.

"Nobody leaves," Rose announces, because she has batlike hearing and is a buzz-kill. "Emmett has something important to say."

Emmett looks surprised to learn that he's got anything at all to say, let alone something important. Rose helpfully kicks him in the shin, causing him to drop his shrimp cigar and recall what he was meant to share with us.

"Right. Rose and I are getting married," he tells us.

Alice shakes her head. "You guys have been engaged for two years now, Em. How is this news?"

He doesn't appear to have an answer at the ready, so Rose rolls her eyes and answers for him. "We set a date. June 28, next year, right after he graduates."

"Awww, hell. Congrats, you guys!" Jasper says as he half-strangles Emmett. "That's fantastic news."

"You two are gonna be my bridesmaids," Rose says, waving her arm around the table. I hope she's pointing at Bella and Alice, because I'm sitting pretty close to both of them and Rose has already called me Sir Weepsalot and Lord Lightloafer like, twenty times tonight, so she could definitely be making a joke about my having a mangina. I don't. Have one, that is. And no way in hell am I being anyone's bridesmaid.

Alice and Bella both half-stand to reach over and give Rose shoulder hugs, so I'm thinking the bridesmaid thing will be covered by actual maids. There's some squealing, but I can't pay attention to that because Bella's half-standing body means her left ass cheek is within bitable distance and it seems like a pretty great dessert option from where I'm sitting. My mind rolls back to "Hooch" and her neck, and I remember that I'm hard as granite and I want to leave now, really five minutes ago, but now is the next best thing.

"Oh, hey, you guys," Alice squeaks. "Jasper and I haven't had sex since Sunday. That's almost a whole week. All we've been doing is talking every night for hours, and I'm even crazier about him now than I was before, if that's possible." Jasper doesn't know whether to look proud of this fact or miserable about it, so he settles for a strange half-smirk/half-grimace.

"I'm really happy for you," Rose smiles fondly at Alice. "Now you know you have enough to say to each other to fill up a whole week. That's plenty of talk for anyone." Jasper's slightly unfocused gaze seems to sharpen, because what he's heard is that there might be an end to the hunger strike. I think it's probably a very good thing that Emmett's drunk, though, as he doesn't need to be hearing this kind of thing about his sister even if he and Jasper are good with each other now.

I look down at Bella again, who seems a little quiet. What happy news do we have to share? That I spoke to my ex-girlfriend and apologized for being a psychotic fraud and an asshole? Roger that sideways with a helmet on. Sobering up a bit, I put my hands on Bella's shoulders so that she turns to look at me.

"Live with me," I plead quietly. "Please live with me, Bella. I want to wake up next to you every morning and trip over your books and find your underwear hanging up to dry in the shower and fall asleep with my head in your lap while you do the Sunday crossword puzzle. I want all of it. I want to be there when you're having a bad day and you're tired and you need someone to rub your feet, or your shoulders, or hell, anything else that needs rubbing. I want the sheets on the bed to smell like you. I want your waffles. I want you."

Does any of this make any kind of sense to her? Crap – I should have done this the right way, really planned it out and made it special, because she's so incredibly special and she deserves that.

"Edward, we should talk about this some other time," Bella says breathlessly. "You're drunk."

"Yes, I'm a little drunk," I agree, nodding. "But I'm not _that _drunk, and I still want to live with you. That won't change when I'm sober, because, you know, en soju veritas. If anything, it'll just get worse," I grin. "Live with me, please, Bella."

I look at the table for a minute to see if there's a glass of water anywhere – I'm really very thirsty and I certainly don't want or need any more hooch. I find eight eyes staring at Bella and me, eight eyes variously full of surprise and happiness and trepidation and calm assurance.

"What?" I say.

"Oh, Prince Pussywhipped," Rose slurs beneficently. "It's always a show when you're around."

Jasper and Emmett are shaking their heads in unison, like incredulous synchronized swimmers.

"Oooh, Bella. You put a spella. On that fella," Jasper says, and promptly dissolves into a pile of Kentucky Fried snorts and chortles.

"Dude," Emmett says, "you're not much of a planner, are you? Gotta live dangerously, out there on the edge by the seat of your pants. If I pulled that spur-of-the-moment shit with Rose, she'd be baking my ballsac at 350 degrees right now."

I shrug my shoulders at all of them and turn back to Bella, because I'm not sure I've made my point clear enough for her. "I love you, Bella. I just want to be with you."

Bella's eyes are shining, saying all kinds of incredible things to me, but she bites her lip. "I dunno, Edward. That didn't work out too well for you the last time you tried it."

I kiss her, because how can I not? "Very true – but she wasn't you, and I wasn't me."

"Oh my God," Alice shrieks accusingly. "You are _lethal_. Bel, you're too drunk to argue about this now, and so is he. Just tell him you'll think about it and put off answering until he's less impossible than he is at the moment. Like, catch him when he's caffeine-deprived or has a cold or something."

"Hey," I scowl, holding the palm of my hand almost directly in Alice's face. "This is not a decision we're going to reach by committee." Then I look back at Bella. "Don't answer right now if you don't want to. Wait until I'm sober as a judge, or caffeine-deprived, or fluish, or anything you like. Catch me at my worst. I have a clean slate now, and I'm going to do everything I can to get you to agree because I know I'm going to make you happy."

"You already make me happy," she laughs, but she's crying a little too. That kind of reaction is confusing enough when I'm sober. Drunk, it spins my head around and I have no idea whether to offer her comfort or crack up right along with her. As a compromise, I nod my head encouragingly and motion for her to continue.

"We've only known each other for a little over a month," Bella says. "Five weeks."

I don't get where she's headed with that. "And?"

"And it seems a little soon to be talking about something like this."

"Sssh," I say. "When'd be a better time, then? Give me a date and I'll put it on my calendar."

"Stop it. Stop doing that. Stop stealing all my reasons."

I throw my arms around her neck and pull her face close to mine. "Bella, there's no reason in your reasons. I feel like I have to point that stuff out to you when it happens."

She pulls her face back and puts one palm across her forehead. "I can't think now. I don't want to make a mistake."

"Do you love me?"

She nods her head. "God help me, I do."

"All right then. I love you too. So much. That's all I'm saying. If there's a minute of the day that I can spend with you, I want to spend it with you, even if I'm just watching you flip through a catalogue or sort your dry cleaning."

She whimpers, and I think I need to stop clubbing her over the head like a baby seal about the whole idea. She hasn't said 'no', which must be a good sign. I'll let it go – for now. "I'll stop nagging you. Just wanted to put it out there."

I don't think anybody at this table should be getting behind the wheel of a car, so I ask the hostess to call us three taxis. Rose mutters something about my managing ways, but she'll thank me for it when she's safe in bed and hasn't wrapped her shiny red BMW around an innocent pedestrian. She'll probably still drift off to sleep with snide remarks about Baronet BooBooKitty on her lips, though.

We settle the bill and walk outside to find three taxis waiting to take us wherever our inebriated hearts wish to go. Emmett and Jasper clap me on the back and tell me I'm mental, as though this is breaking news and they're the first to discover the fact. There's some hugging and kissing and babble about dinner at the Cullen house on Sunday, but I'm not really paying attention to that because I'm trying to let the night air sober me up a bit.

Bella finishes telling everyone goodnight then walks back over to me with her eyebrow raised. "One taxi for both of us?" She's teasing me, surely. Please be teasing me. I decide to play it as such.

I wrap her in my arms and kiss her forehead. "If you're going to try to escape, you'll have to put a little effort into it," I grin. "I'm totally not above taking gross advantage of your current inability to form a coherent objection." I stop kidding around and really look at her then, because I'm not sure she understands I was only joking. "Seriously, if you'd rather, I can have the taxi drop me off first and then take you back to Forks." It kills me to say the words, but everything between us has to be her choice or it doesn't count.

"I'm not really drunk, Edward," she says solemnly. "I had exactly two shots of the soju, so my head is pretty clear."

"And you're coming home with me anyway?"

"Yes. I'm coming home with you anyway. Let's go…home."

The way she says that sends my heart racing up and down my body like an elevator in crisis. "Okay…my home, or your home?"

Bella bites her lip again, and my heart shudders to a stop in its travels somewhere around my knees. Finally she looks up at me. "Our home. Let's go home to our home."

# # #

**A/N – **Okay, is everyone ready for the play? We're almost there, I promise. Ah, greasepaint. Footlights. Freakouts. It's all on deck for our intrepid troupe of characters, not to mention the arrival of various parental figures.

Join us on the TPAP thread over at Twilighted. I swiped some bottles of soju for the crowd.

And reviews? I love them. I eat them up like candy. Go on, push the button – make my day, punk.


	19. False face must hide what false heart

**A/N** – This right here isn't a real chapter. It's a nugget of information, a _soupçon_ of inside skinny on James. It will probably drive you crazy, but I couldn't resist, and I needed to break it out of a standard chapter because it's very much outside action at the moment.

# # #

False face must hide what false heart doth know

The phone rang three times before someone picked up.

"Hello?" The gruff voice on the other end was either sleepy or in a mood which augured no pleasant reception.

"You know, I'm freaked out enough as it is – I don't need you to help freak me out more, Demetri," James whined.

"Shit – grow some spine, man. What's the plan?"

"There are four of them plus two understudies, so I'll need you, Alec, and Felix. Can you be up here on Thursday? It's our last rehearsal before opening night and I can show you what we're dealing with."

"No problem. Are they on to you?"

"I don't think so, but I've never done anything like this before, so what the hell do I know about it. What happens…that night? Is Caius going to be here with bail money, or do we just make a run for it and hope like hell we don't get caught?"

"Depends on the circumstances. We try to run if we can, obviously. If we get caught, we call Caius and he'll take care of it. I've only been arrested once, and the lawyer he's got is damn good, so we never saw the inside of a court room. Turned it into some First Amendment issue, and everybody just wanted the case to go away after that."

"I don't want anyone to get hurt, if possible. These are nice people, you know?"

"James, you need to decide right now whether you're in or you're out. The way you talk makes me question your commitment, and if I tell Caius I'm having doubts about you, he's not going to be happy about it."

James ran his hand over his face. "I'm in. I swear I'm in. I'll do it. Do I have to make some kind of statement, you know, before?"

"Nah. We let our actions make the statement."

James laughed nervously. "All right. Rehearsal starts at six on Thursday. Meet me in the parking lot across the street from the theatre at five, and we'll go in the back way so I can show you around. Nobody shows up until 5:30, so we should have plenty of time."

"Do we need to bring anything? It's easier to get stuff down here than it'll be up there."

"No, I have that covered. It's already stashed away."

"Good work. You're doing S.C.A.M.P. proud. And when this is over, you're off the front lines for at least a year or two, so cheer up. Although I think you'll find that it's addicting. I'm psyched as hell, frankly."

"You would be," James laughed nervously. "This is totally your thing."

"I'm a soldier. This is war," Demetri's voice shrugged. "Disposable cell phone from this point on, James. No more calls on the regular line."

"Got it. See you Thursday," he swallowed, and pushed the "End" button on the receiver.

# # #


	20. Thinking too precisely on the event

**A/N - **Later in the day than I'd hoped, and once again barely proofed, but here you are – a healthy scoop of TPAP to ease you into the working week. I won't even waste your time with more chit-chat, except to say thank you again to all who read, and review, and recommend. I'm also grateful that nobody murdered me over Friday's post about James. You're really too kind.

All things Twilight belong to all things Stephanie Meyer.

# # #

Thinking too precisely on the event

BPOV

I manage to open one bleary eye at 10:39 Saturday morning. It's hellaciously late; even in small quantities, soju packs a brutal uppercut to the central nervous system. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and I smell like barbequed meat. In more than one way, I am thankful that I am not sleeping in Forks right now, because if Alice were to catch sight of me in my current sad condition, she'd be hustling me into a shower and brushing and scrubbing and talking and talking and talking, and the combination of those things would make me simultaneously retch and scowl.

Instead of Alice, I get Edward, and it's a glorious trade-off on many levels. He's curled around me like a beautiful human shell, but I don't feel crowded in the slightest. I feel…airborne, light as a cloud, silly with love. I can't see his face because he's burrowed it into my neck, but his soft hair tickles my jaw and sends muted sparks of desire across my muddled, slow-waking body.

To the best of my knowledge, I haven't moved a muscle, and yet he somehow senses that I'm conscious, because a moment later I feel a soft "Mmmhmmm" vibrate against my throat and his arms tighten across my waist.

"Morning," he murmurs, slowly lifting his head back onto the pillow so that I can see his face.

"Yes it is," I confirm. "Hey – you asked me to live with you last night."

"Egad, so I did," he smiles. "I meant it, too. See? Sober as a judge, and I still mean it."

"How come you smell like mint and you don't have a hangover?" Edward is so suspiciously gifted in so many odd ways that I wouldn't doubt his ability to wake up the morning after the sojufest minty-fresh and completely unaffected.

"I stumbled out of bed a few hours ago to use the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and took four analgesics," he answers. It's a disappointingly prosaic answer. I half expect him to sprout wings and fly around the room, and instead all he did was use some toothpaste and pop some aspirin.

"I smell like barbeque," I announce, giving him fair warning that I did not prepare for this morning encounter as effectively as he has. In response, he nibbles at the corner of my mouth and laughs. "You're delicious. I love leftovers, and I'm having you for breakfast."

His head disappears under the blankets, and as painful as it is to do so, I call him back to the surface. "Edward, wait – we have things to discuss. Get back here."

Edward reluctantly reemerges from the blanket and settles his head back on the pillow with an impatient sigh. "All right, but be quick about it. I'm really very, uhm, hungry." To further illustrate this fact, he pushes his erection gently into my thigh, making my breath catch in my throat and momentarily distracting me from the even larger issues between us.

"Yes?" The devil is dancing in his eyes now as, eyebrows raised, he's pushing against me again and daring me to remember what it was I wanted to say to him.

I scoot away from him in a desperate attempt to clear my lust-addled brain. "No, really, the 'live-with-me' concept. We need to talk about it. How exactly do you see this happening?"

"I see a van, with large, muscular men, taking boxes and bags and furniture and whatnot from your house and bringing all of it here, where you will arrange it as you see fit. Then I see you clogging up the bathroom drawers with feminine hygiene products and jars of mysterious ointments, after which you'll take over every closet in the place and send me off to Target to purchase a few shoe racks. Finally, you'll make some sensible argument about why I need to get rid of half of my things, and we'll study brochures about window treatments before we fall asleep on the couch in the living room. I'm really pretty excited about the thing."

He knows perfectly well that fully three-quarters of what he's just said is nonsense and I was talking about issues like how to split bills and what to tell our families, but I'm inexplicably and thoroughly turned on by the whole speech anyway and I slide quickly back over to him so that I can straddle him and attack his mouth with mine.

"I'm going to live with you. We're going to live together," I tell him between kisses, just to make sure this is true.

"Oh yes, you are. Yes, we are," he confirms, rolling me onto my back. "But if you think that's going to keep me from my breakfast, I think you need to have another think." And he disappears under the blanket again, laughing. Holy Mother on High, fingers and tongue and I will do anything he wants, anything at all, I will change my name and my religion and my nationality and "there – oh, God, _there_" commit crimes and I'm past the point at which I can refuse him anything. He's got it all. It belongs to him now. Can I really wake up this way every morning? Is it really this simple, what I've made so complicated my entire life? It could only be this simple with Edward. I'm exploding, happiness shooting out of every pore, every half-formed thought in my head abandoned while I laugh and gasp and moan his name to let him know that this is perfect.

"Edward," I pant. He comes out from under the blanket, damp with perspiration and me, smiling and sharp-eyed. "Move in. Move in to me," I laugh breathlessly, needing more of him. Needing all of him. Needing to make him stand on the edge of laughter and lust with me, because these two things combined are so potent between us. Not requiring a second invitation, he guides himself into me, and we start what is possibly the strangest bargaining session in recorded human history.

"I want…" I say.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want. Anything," he promises recklessly, serious and husky-voiced and tender and wonderful.

"I want…to pay for phone and cable," I groan.

Edward stops moving for a moment because he has no idea how this relates to the love we're in the middle of making. "I don't – Bella, what?"

"Bills," I clarify. "Household expenses," and I shift myself up to him as a reminder that this is one of those multi-tasking moments. Shaking his head, he resumes movement, but he's clearly a little distracted.

"Oh, don't stop," I tell him. "Don't stop…paying the electric bill." Now he's laughing so hard that we're literally shaking against each other, because in a long history of ridiculous conversations between us, this is without question the most ridiculous of them all. And strangely, he's even harder now than he was a minute ago, grinding into me with gusto as he gets into the spirit of things.

"I love it when you take charge…of the banking," he splutters. "Balance the checkbooks," he growls, as though this is the rough equivalent of telling me to get down on all fours.

"Give me the dry cleaning," I moan helplessly. "I want your dry cleaning."

"Jesus, Bella, you need to stop now, because I'm going to sprain something. I'm just not this talented," he gasps. "I love you."

"So much," I whisper against his cheek, and we're suddenly serious again, grasping and breathing and so happy it's almost painful. This cannot be normal. If everyone in love were this happy, there would be no wars or famine or disease. It would be seventy-five degrees and sunny everywhere, all the time.

We collapse in a tangled heap on the bed. Edward grabs his chest. "Warning next time," he begs me. "You're going to be the death of me." I have just enough residual energy to lean over and kiss him on his shoulder.

"We have to get up soon," I murmur after a long while. "You've got work."

Edward groans. "No. Don't make me go. There are lots of other doctors in the hospital. Surely my absence won't be noticed."

"You can't play hookie. You're a grown-up now," I remind him. "Besides, I'm a teacher, and hookie is my nemesis. I have a real bugaboo about it."

"Please don't say 'bugaboo' again. It's too cute and I can't tell you how hot you are when you're being cute like that. It's tragic."

"Bugaboo," I whisper in his ear, because I can't help myself, and then I suck on his earlobe for good measure and listen to him moan as he pulls his legs up slightly.

"It's nice to know you have no interest whatsoever in torturing me," he laughs. "I thought you wanted me to get up and go."

"I don't _want_ you to go anywhere. I want you to stay right here," I smile into his jaw. "But you have to go, and I need to find Alice so that we can have a chat."

"Yes? A chat about what, exactly?"

"A chat about the fact that she's going to be losing her housemate. I've lived with Alice for almost a decade – this is a huge change for us, and I need to make sure that she's going to be okay with it."

He rubs my shoulder. "I don't ever want to do anything to get in the middle of your friendship with her. I know how important she is to you. We'll wait a little if we have to. Do you think she'll be very upset?"

I laugh. "Knowing Al? She'll be sitting in our foyer on top of my packed suitcases, asking me if she can throw me a 'living in sin' party."

I expect Edward to laugh, but instead, he's quiet and thoughtful for a moment. "Does that bother you at all?"

"What – that Al would want to throw me a party? She always wants to throw a party. It's standard operating procedure for her."

"Not that," he answers. "I meant the 'living in sin' aspect. Does it bother you?" He's not looking at me as he says this, which is good, because I can feel my face freeze and I've forgotten how to breathe again. I'm terrified of where this particular tangent is headed, and feel as though I've been strapped to the front of a car at Le Mans.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth_.

"No, it doesn't bother me, Edward," I finally manage. I turn his face to mine so that I can tell him this half-truth. "I don't want to be without you."

Edward grabs me unexpectedly and locks me in a tight hug. "You never will be," he promises, then lightens the mood by adding "except for when I have to go to work because you insist on it and make me feel guilty."

I can leave it right there, because it's clear that Edward is perfectly willing to drop this conversation and not push me any harder on what is going through my head. I know he noticed that I stopped breathing for a moment. He noticed because he pays attention to me, more and closer attention than anyone has ever paid to me in my life. He's not interested in "catching" me in a lie or a half-truth. There will be no "Aha! You didn't tell me what you're _really_ thinking" moment between us. He'll just let me come to this conversation in my own way, in my own time, and he'll wait until I'm ready to do that.

It's miraculous. It's unprecedented. It's so outrageously considerate and loving of him. I realize that it's not in the big and overtly demonstrative ways that I see just how much he loves me. It's in these small and easily overlooked things that I see how much of his heart he's willing to give. I think back to Wednesday night, and how I dithered over talking to him about setting up some kind of schedule so that we could avoid another spontaneous late-night intersection rendezvous. He showed me then just how serious he was about me, and about us. He put it all right out there, risking rebuff without a second's hesitation. It moves me to tears, and these are tears I have no wish to hide from him anymore.

"Hey," I say, and nudge his head up from my shoulder so that he's looking at me again.

"Bella? Wait - why are you crying?" I can see him start to panic, and I need to shut that down right away.

"No – they're not bad tears, I promise," I say, smiling. "It's just – I was just thinking about how kind you are. You're a kind person, Edward. You won't ask me to tell you why I don't want to have this conversation with you, which perversely makes me want to tell you everything. This is a big move for me, living together. And I'm a little scared, and nervous too, because I don't know how it's going to change us. But I want to be with you. I want to be with you forever. One day, that will mean – it'll mean marriage. Not today, though. Today, we're taking the biggest step I can take right now, and I hope that's okay," I finish, taking a deep breath. "I just want you to know that it hasn't entirely escaped my notice that we're probably headed in that direction."

Edward closes his eyes and presses his lips firmly together to beat back a grin. Once he's got a grip on himself, he reopens his eyes, which are now absolutely brimming with glee. "Thank you for sharing that," he says solemnly. "But I think it's only fair to let you know that I've been meaning to marry you for at least a week or two now, and my brilliant master plan is to keep eliminating your options until you have no other choice. It's good to know you're not totally against the idea in theory, though – that'll make things loads easier."

I wrinkle my nose at him. "Now I'm resolved to refuse you."

He opens his eyes wide in shock. "Are you really?"

"No," I admit with a grumble. "But I'm definitely going to make you beg. A lot."

"Not a problem," he cheerfully assures me. "You wanted a man to be a fool for you? I'm prepared to be as foolish as you like. You can even sell tickets to the spectacle if you want to."

"Fantastic idea. I'll use the proceeds to start a fund for a good divorce attorney."

"Oh, Bella," he says with mock sadness. "I hate to see you hang on to false hope that way. The profits from ticket sales wouldn't get you much more than some greenhorn from the Legal Aid Society. My guys would bury you in court and you'll end up tied to me for the next six incarnations. They'll probably even make you buy me lunch every day for all eternity and embroider sonnets about my love rocket on your best Sunday dress."

"You know what's truly annoying about you, Sir Jack of Ass?" I ask. He shakes his head, grinning. "Everything," I explain, but I lean over to huff his neck a little because the smell of him renders whatever's coming out of his mouth almost irrelevant.

Once we're washed, dressed, and breakfasted, we've run out of time for anything other than racing over to where we've left our cars and hustling Edward to work. I drive back to Forks to change clothes, because I'm wearing one of Edward's old sweatshirts and the pants from last night. When I get home, I see that Alice is still not back from Jasper's, so I call her cell phone.

"Mmm?" She answers.

"Al – are you coming back today? I need to talk to you," I tell her, suddenly anxious to share both my news and my concern about how it's going to affect her.

"I wasn't planning on coming back until after dinner with the folks tomorrow – want to come over here for coffee or something?"

I realize I've never been inside Jasper's apartment. He lives in one of those garden complexes on the north side of town.

"Will Jasper mind? I really do need to steal you for an hour or two."

Alice squeals. "Big news, eh? Did you say 'yes' to Edward?"

"I don't want to talk about it over the phone, Al. Just you and me, somewhere private."

I hear her send her voice across Jasper's apartment. "Honey, I need you to disappear for a while this afternoon," she coos sweetly. "It seems that Bella's got something she wants to _tell_ me."

"You got it," Jasper answers, and I can hear him well enough to hear the grin he's sporting as he says the words.

"We're good," Alice reports airily. "Come as quickly as you can."

I get changed and head right back out to Port Angeles. Alice is standing with the apartment door open before I'm even out of my car, and the look on her face makes me smile despite my best intentions. I realize that we could probably have this conversation in less than two minutes flat because we know each other so well.

I hop up the stairs until I'm eyeball to eyeball with my pint-sized omniscient soul sister. "Ah, yes," she laughs. "I see. Finally! Although I am a little sad," she pouts.

My joy dissolves in the face of her sadness, because I would lose limbs for this person who's been a better friend than anyone has ever had, anywhere, at any point in time. "Oh, Al, no. I don't want – I would never, ever do anything to make your life difficult. I'll talk to Edward and we'll just postpone it or figure out something else."

The pout instantly disappears, only to be replaced with shocked eyes and then a snarl. "What the hell? Don't you _dare_, Bel. Just don't even _dare_. Do you have any idea how long we've been waiting for this?" It takes me a moment to fully realize that she's actually angry with me. Her hand wraps around my wrist and she drags me into the apartment, closing the door behind us.

Her hands are on her hips, and I can see she's truly furious. "Were you seriously going to suggest that you not move in with Edward right now?"

I don't know what to say. Is moving in with him the wrong answer, or the right one? "I just don't want you to be sad," I manage.

"God, you're impossible," she laughs. "I couldn't be happier that you're moving in with him. Could not be happier. I'm just ticked off because I now owe Jasper….uh….something. We've had a bet going on this ever since you and I got back from Los Angeles, and he called this weekend. I had next weekend, because I thought for sure you'd wait until after your parents had met him. But see that? I should know better than to bet against lust, I really should."

"You've been _betting_ on us?" It's my turn to be a little ticked. And then what she's just said registers even deeper. "This isn't lust, Al."

"Oh calm down – it was totally harmless. Besides, everyone knew it was inevitable. Jasper measured out your room for his office a few weeks ago. He's dying to cover the walls with bookcases, and he knows I won't let him do that in the living room."

"Jasper's moving in?" Holy crap – where have I been while all of this was proofing like a yeast dough in a warm dark oven?

Alice perches on the edge of the couch. "If you're moving out, then yes, Jasper's moving in."

"How long have you two been hatching this particular plan?"

She taps her chin in thought. "You know, I don't even remember the exact day anymore. It was probably about a week after the auditions."

"Al, doesn't this all – I don't know – doesn't it just seem to be happening too quickly, somehow?"

"I'm pretty sure love doesn't consult a timetable," Alice smiles. "You want to be together. So, be together. It's really that cut-and-dried from where I'm sitting."

I exhale loudly, not knowing what else to do. "We're going to be okay, though, right?"

Alice hugs me to her tightly. "Bel, you and I will _always_ be okay. We'll be great."

"When do you see the hostage exchange happening?"

"Jasper gave his landlord notice on the first of September. We have until the end of the month."

I'm gobsmacked yet again, for what feels like the fiftieth time within the past twenty-four hours. "He gave notice already? What if I'd said 'no' to Edward?"

Alice's laugh trills through the living room. "I have absolute faith in your ability to be sensible, Bel. It might have been a gamble, but I was always betting on _you_. Let's plow and grab some lunch or something. All this tumult has me craving an egg salad sandwich on rye with some bacon."

I recognize this as Alice's standard post-bacchanal fare, so it's not the tumult causing the craving, but rather the soju, which clearly hit her as hard as it hit the rest of us even though she'll deny it until her last gasp. We drive over to the deli near campus and have some lunch, taking time to go through our inventory of furniture and figure out who gets what. Edward's place is fully furnished and in excellent taste, so I don't really need to bring much with me. It's good news, because Jasper's furniture is extremely unpredictable and a bit too heavy on bachelor chrome for Alice's taste, so she's thrilled that they won't need much of it once I've taken what I need. Of course, Jasper would haul everything he owns out on the lawn, pour gasoline on it and strike a few matches if it made Alice happy for him to do so in any event, so she never had much to worry about there. We need to make copies of our pictures because I'm not living anywhere that doesn't sport the shot of our homeless fashion consultant and us on the stoop of the Riverside building.

The rest of the weekend passes by in a blur. When Esme and Carlisle learn of our plans to alter our current living arrangements, Esme is over the moon about the whole idea. We spend Sunday night dinner discussing her thoughts about a combined housewarming party, and she insists that she wants to create some new artwork for us to commemorate the happy event. I tell her that Edward's parents and my parents will be coming up for opening night on Friday, and she instantly extends an invitation for brunch on Saturday or Sunday. We tell her we'll check their travel plans and let her know which day works best, but what Edward and I are both simultaneously and silently debating is whether it's smart to detonate the nuclear holocaust that will be the meeting of our parents in the presence of innocent bystanders. Once we figure that out, I'm asking Esme to invite Aro and the dog along, because if the worst should come to pass, at least we'll have some juggling for a floor show while the world collapses. He'll be our Nero, fiddling away as Rome burns.

I'm in a strange kind of flux as far as the concept of "home" is concerned. My things are still in Forks, but the rest of me is only truly home wherever Edward happens to be, and I feel caught between these two things, comfortable nowhere. On the one hand, I need everything that is Edward, but on the other hand, my clean underwear and my favorite books and my pillow are still in Forks. The good news is that since we've made the monumental decision to co-habitate, I feel a whole new degree of freedom in my relationship with Edward. There's a bizarre 'pride in ownership' situation happening in my head. He is mine, really mine, and not on a part-time, as-needed basis. I can't even call him my boyfriend anymore. Instead, I itch to introduce him as my Everything, because the standard terms don't seem capacious enough to contain the scope of feeling involved. Lover? Of course. Partner? Yes, that too. Gentleman Caller? Clearly. All partially correct, but none precise or comprehensive enough. I could go with "Toe-Curling, Word-Stealing, Infinitely-Huffable, Unfairly Talented, Surprisingly Flexible Man of Mystery and Endless Enchantments", but that seems a bit wordy, frankly, and it doesn't include any information about the fact that I love him to absolute distraction. It's kind of implied, though, I think.

Jasper slides into the chair next to me at Monday's department meeting. "I'm gonna paint your room lime green and hang up dirty posters of naked women," he murmurs tauntingly, making me laugh.

"You'll do no such thing, because we all know Alice wears the pants in your dynamic duo," I respond. "You'd probably get away with dirty posters of naked Alice, though."

"Even better," Jasper smiles. "Except between those and the real thing, I don't think I'd get much work done. You okay?"

"I'm just – gah," I answer, because again, no words to describe this. It's terribly frustrating.

"Yep. Gah. That about covers it, don't it," Jasper nods. "Thank God we're experts in the language." Apparently, Jasper's as put out about the lack of appropriate verbiage as I am.

And the Gah? It's amped up to eleven on a scale of one to ten, crushing every rational thought out of my head. I have no idea what I'm lecturing about anymore as I stand in front of my students. It's possible that I'm discussing George Eliot's _Middlemarch_ and the goings-on between Dorothea Brooke and Edward Casaubon, but the fact that one of the characters is named Edward makes it equally possible that I'm lecturing on how he decided that a great way to wake me up this morning would be to trace the words "Waffle Me" on my stomach with his beautiful index finger as I slept next to him. I need someone to slap me around if I start to drift. It's bad.

I'm no better on Tuesday, and spend my day tapping a pen against my lesson planner until I can leave campus and race over to rehearsal. Everyone's freaking out because we only have this and Thursday before opening night. I suddenly decide that I'm really pretty nervous about performing in front of an audience, but then I remember that I'll be spending most of my time onstage staring into Edward's eyes. When I do that, everyone else in the room tends to disappear anyway, so I'm thinking I probably won't even notice that there's an audience in the room. I can only act if I get to use the sight of him as a prop. The tension surrounding us, when combined with the combustible emotions between us, makes us both rage at each other with extra viciousness during our onstage exchanges. We tear into the dialogue like wild dingos, and I'm plagued by brief images of us ripping our clothes off and going at it like gladiators in a death cage right here in front of everyone. From the look of him, Edward's feeling the same way, and wondering whether we can visit our dark hallway in the lobby during dinner break.

Angela comes racing over to me as Banner's distracted with Dogberry and Verges. "Bella," she squeaks. "I did it! I asked Ben out, and he said yes! We went out on Friday – it was, God, it was like a dream date."

I give her a little hug. "I hate to say 'I told you so', Angie, but I'm out of other options here," I smile. "Does this mean you two are an item now?"

She nods. "He told me he'd been trying to figure out how to ask me for a date since the first week. I can't believe we wasted so much time – it seems so stupid now that I look back on it."

We chatter on for a bit about how silly romance is, and I tell her that Edward and I have decided to live together. I don't generally broadcast information about my private life to all and sundry, but there's something so seriously amiss with me in this particular case that I just want to grab a megaphone and run through the streets letting everyone know about this recent development in my life. I realize, of course, that the "Change of Address" forms available at the Post Office are probably a more reliable way to get the information out there than random passes through each neighborhood with a megaphone.

_Hello, my name is Bella, and I'm officially losing my grip on reality._

Edward and I are complete maniacs by the time we get home after rehearsal. We're a menace to every surface and stick of furniture in the house as we tumble through the house like desperados. What's the _matter_ with me? Where on earth is this urgency coming from? Did I not just agree to live with him, and shouldn't that mean we don't have to treat sex as though it's the last time we're ever going to get our hands on each other for all eternity?

We end up in the laundry room, of all places. We're covered in sweat and I'm sitting on the dryer, for obvious reasons. "What was that?" I'm honestly curious to see if he's got an explanation for this.

He shakes his head at me in disbelief. "I really couldn't say, but God, I hope it never goes away. I think I pulled every muscle I have just now. And it feels _fantastic_." He grabs me by the waist and hoists me down from the dryer. "Remember how I told you – that first time with us, in the beginning – that I was Jack Nicholson in _The Postman Always Rings Twice_?"

I nod, feeling as though that conversation took place about forty years ago because so much has happened between us since then.

"Bella, I swear to you, if Jack Nicholson were here right now, he'd want to be taking some notes from me."

"If Jack Nicholson were here right now, I'm not sure he'd want to be standing close enough to take notes. We're a hard-hat zone today."

Edward puts his hands on his head and pulls his hair. "I think we need to consider redecorating the place with bubble wrap and foam padding."

"I'll replace all my lingerie with chin guards and knee pads, because I think it's just ultimately going to be more practical for us."

He looks at me and his eyes become slightly unfocused. "I have no idea why, but that image is unspeakably erotic."

"You're unspeakably odd," I counter, grabbing his chin between my fingers and shaking his head while I laugh.

By Wednesday, I realize that this new – this new mood, or mindset, or whatever it is the Gah causes me to do, here – isn't going away anytime soon. Edward is working the early shift at the hospital today, and I've got a full complement of classes to slog through, so we plan to meet at the house at five o'clock. My instructions are to not even consider being a minute late, and to bring dinner with me because there is no time scheduled on our agenda for cooking.

I'm done with classes and back in Forks by 3:00. I take a shower and pull together a cream of broccoli soup and some chicken crepes for dinner, then pack those up for travel. I'd changed into a pair of brushed cotton capris and a t-shirt, but the devil wanders into my head and prompts me to do something devious and completely out of character, just because I'm pretty sure it will make Edward's head spin around like a top and I love the look he gets in his eyes when I'm unpredictable and spontaneous. Following the prompting of my inner demon, I strip back out of all of my clothes and put on my short black belted trenchcoat instead. I'm not so far gone that I consider for one moment wearing actual heels with this getup, but I put on the black kitten heels as a nod to the general idea.

I make my way to Alice's room and contemplate her treasure trove of accessories, eventually selecting an opera-length strand of pearls and a black fedora. I've never, ever done anything even remotely like this before. It 's freaking me out big time, but Edward's going to lose his mind when I open the trench and he discovers that I've saved us the time and bother of undressing me, so I screw my courage to the sticking point and march downstairs.

Is this really cheesy? I don't know. It sounds like something most women would consider doing for the man in their lives, and even though it smacks of a lack of imagination to me, I don't want him to miss out on an experience because I'm too straight-laced to come through with the kink. This impulse is all the result of that stupid "chin guard and knee pad" crack I made yesterday. I own no such things, but I do have the trenchcoat, and Alice does have the pearls and the hat, so it'll have to do.

There's no cell service between Forks and Port Angeles, which is a shame, because I really want to call Alice and have her tell me this is a cool and sexy thing to do. The service returns as I near Edward's house, my screen showing me that I've missed three calls. I check the caller ID and see that it's Edward. It makes me feel better, because clearly, he's as anxious to see me as I am to see him. It's been almost thirteen hours, which is almost thirteen hours too long.

When I turn onto his street, I can see that it's fairly crowded. There's already a car parked at the curb in front of the house, and Edward's Volvo is in the driveway, so I'm forced to park across the street. I reach behind me to pull out the tote bag full of our dinner, and I realize that in my freak-out, I neglected to pack a change of clothes for tomorrow. I'm thoroughly annoyed with myself now, because this means I'll have to hike all the way back to Forks early in the morning in order to get ready for work. I can't wait until the season of flux is at an end and both my belongings and my beloved are all in one place. In the meantime, I'm definitely going to have to start bringing some clothing to keep over here.

A wind gust catches me under my trench, surprising and alarming me. The trench hits me mid-thigh, so I know nothing is exposed, but somehow wind on my netherparts makes me think the entire block is hip to my deal and is staring out their windows at me as I Lady Godiva it up the front walk. Ten more steps, and it won't matter.

I reach for my key to the front door, but change my mind at the last minute and decide it'll be sexier if I ring the doorbell and he's forced to let me in himself, so that's what I do.

The door swings open to reveal Edward. "Hi there," I purr, leaning up against the frame with one hand and dangling the dinner tote in the other. "I've got something for you to…eat."

His eyes bulge as he takes in the picture before him and I can actually see beads of sweat start to form on his forehead. This is awesome. He looks nervous as hell and I can tell he's shocked and aroused, and I stop worrying about the cheese factor because it's clear that men, in their essence, are all pretty much the same with regard to this kind of thing. No need to get all fancy with it.

"Bella," he whispers hoarsely. "Why weren't you answering your phone?"

That strikes me as a very odd question to be asking at this moment, so I tilt my head in confusion. And then he utters four words which take me from unlikely sex goddess to quivering mass of _Holyshit._

"My parents are here."

"I have to go," I squeak. Never in my life have I spoken truer words than those. But of course there's no escape, because standing behind Edward right now is a fairly good representation of what he'll look like in about thirty years. Even though I'm dying a thousand deaths at the moment I can appreciate that time will be kind to my Everything, as his father is pretty darn well-preserved.

"Edward? Is everything all right?"

"Uhm, yes. Dad. Bella's just here, with, uhm, dinner." This makes me sound like a Domino's Pizza delivery guy. There are many, many differences between myself and a Domino's Pizza delivery guy, but at the moment, the chief distinction in my mind is that the Domino's Pizza delivery guy would probably be wearing underwear, whereas I, on the other hand, am not.

"Come in," Edward murmurs, because we have no choice now. I still shake my head on the off chance that doing so will somehow excuse me from this nightmare, but he shakes his head back at me and steps aside to let me know that there are no rest stops on the highway to Hell tonight.

Here I am, in the hallway. We've had scooting sex in this hallway, and the random memory of it makes me giggle inappropriately.

Edward takes my hand and leads me to the slaughter. "Dad? This is Bella," he announces somewhat unnecessarily, as he's already told his father that it's me. Edward Sr. seems vaguely curious about my attire, but holds his hand warmly out to me all the same.

"It's a genuine pleasure," he says. His eyes tell me that he's sincere, and there's a small, shy smile to match. I'd had this image of Edward's father as a real go-getter, some kind of surgical powerhouse who was too busy and too aloof to really get to know his incredibly interesting and unique little boy, but I can see now that such was not the case at all. Edward Sr. is a bona fide geek, and fairly shy into the bargain. And I like him immediately. He lacks the effervescent quality that Edward has in spades, but it's easy to see that he's kind, and gentle, and not at all full of himself despite what he's accomplished.

I feel slightly calmer now that I know his father isn't what I expected, but this calm is short-lived because Edward's arm is around my waist and he's guiding me into the living room to meet Dame Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Masen is, in a word, breathtaking. As she stands up from the couch and turns to face me, I take in her appearance. She's tall, and slender, and painfully elegant, dressed in a rich tweed skirt and heavy silk satin blouse. Her hair is the deep, shiny black of a raven's wing, and her eyes are the same impossibly deep green her son possesses. She must be in her mid- to late-fifties, but there is not a single discernible wrinkle in her porcelain complexion, and yet this doesn't seem to be the result of any careful surgical procedures. When I pictured her in my head, her hair was always styled in a severe chignon, but she's wearing it shoulder-length and loose, with only a small comb at each side to pull it away from her face. It would take me hours to make my hair look so casually ordered, and I'd need Alice and Rose's help to accomplish the task. Elizabeth Masen clearly wakes up neat and precise.

She instantly intimidates the ever-loving crap out of me.

"Mother, this is Bella," Edward says as calmly as he can.

Dame Liz holds her hand out to me, palm down. Am I meant to genuflect and kiss her knuckles? I don't know the protocol. I decide on a gentle shake instead, because hell, we're on this side of the pond now and they really don't teach these things in school here. Surprisingly, her hand is warm and her grasp is firm, but not aggressive. I see her appraising eyes take in my appearance, and there is understanding and a hint of amusement in her eyes, but she chooses not to acknowledge what she suspects.

"Bella," she confirms, and her voice is as cool and smooth as a mountain spring. "Edward's told us so much about you, but I see his power of description is somewhat, ah, inadequate. I'm so glad we finally have the chance to meet."

I should say something. Words? It seems her son has inherited the vocabulary-stealing gene from his mother, because she has the same effect on me. Edward's arm tightens around my waist and I regain the power of speech.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Mrs. Masen," I finally manage. "I wasn't aware you were arriving before Friday."

_It's not an accusation, I swear. I'm just naked and really pretty nervous. Please don't hate me._

Mrs. Masen smiles, and it's a stunning sight. "I hope we haven't caught you out too badly. We were meant to spend the night with friends in Seattle, but a last-minute change of plans on their part scotched that and so we thought we'd run up here instead."

"Bella and I were just planning a quiet dinner at home," Edward informs her. "Of course you're welcome to join us, or we can go out if you'd prefer it."

"I made chicken crepes," I say, for no apparent reason and to no one in particular.

Mrs. Masen waves her hand and laughs. "Not at all. We merely stopped over to say 'hello' on our way to dinner. Isn't that right, Edward?" She's addressing her husband, who nods helpfully even though he's quite clearly baffled by the sudden alteration in plan.

"No, really, please stay," I respond. I may be in hell, but I'm not so lost to all sense of propriety that I feel comfortable shooing his parents out of the house so that I can carry out my original aim of spending the evening in a state of blissful nudity with their son. "If you'll just excuse me for a few moments, I need to run back to my house to – to get something I forgot to bring with me."

"Of course, dear. We'd be glad to wait for you," she says gently.

"Right," I say. "I'm really very sorry. I'll be back as quickly as I can." She arches an eyebrow at me but it's not unfriendly, and it's clear that she's trying to communicate a measure of sympathy for my predicament. If I survive the next few hours, it's even possible that we will one day stand on pretty good terms with each other.

Edward announces that he's just going to walk me out to my car, and we exit the house.

"I want to die," I tell him as we cross the street. "If there's any mercy or love in you, you'll just kill me now."

He breaks into hysterics. "I'm sorry, I really am, but Bella, your _face_. I did try to warn you they were here."

"I'm paid in full for that phone call with my mother, if it's any consolation to you," I shoot back at him.

"What's with the trenchcoat? I have to ask, because you look very _Spy vs. Spy_ tonight," he gasps through his laughter.

"You idiot. I'm not wearing anything underneath it, and I'm positive your mother knows."

I have his full attention now, and he's stopped laughing. "You're kidding me. Holy shit."

"Exactly. I reiterate, kill me now if you love me."

"Not a chance, but please know that this is hands-down my favorite evening EVER. You definitely don't have to buy me anything for Christmas this year."

"I'm going home to change. I'll be back around seven," I growl. "If the three of you get hungry, feel free to tuck in before I get back. And see if you can get your parents drunk enough so that they forget the last fifteen minutes."

Edward pulls me into a hug. "I know it's awkward as ass, but I promise you they like you. You'll see when you get back."

"Get them drunk," I command him. "Really, really drunk, or drug them, or something. If I come back and your mother's got a lampshade on her head, I might not commit suicide over dessert."

"I absolutely adore you," he laughs, and squeezes me so tightly that I can't breathe. "You have no idea how much. I thought I loved you a minute ago, but it seriously just doubled. And Bella? For future reference, you don't have to do anything extra to make me want to leap all over you like a rabid animal, so feel free to skip the effort, because pretty much all you have to do is be within leaping distance and it's 'mission accomplished' on this end."

"Your house is definitely a leap-free environment this evening, Edward."

"Our house," he corrects me. "And that's totally unacceptable to me. My parents are staying at a hotel."

"I'm not talking about this now. Let me put on some underwear and I'll see how I feel."

"Hurry back," he whispers in my ear with a grin. "We might get bored and start talking about you."

I throw myself into my car and peel out, and spend the drive back to Forks trying to figure out how I can similarly discomfit Edward in my parent's presence. Nothing comes immediately to mind but I'm hopeful that Renee will help me out there. It's going to be a very, very long weekend, but I cheer myself up with the reflection that we've hit the nadir early, as nothing on the horizon could possibly be any worse than this.

I hope.

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**A/N** – Next chapter walks us into opening night. Oh yes, it does. Until then, have a great week, and thanks again for reading and reviewing and being so very nice to me!


	21. It is the bright day that brings forth

A/N – Please forgive the lateness of this chapter! It was unavoidable due to a family situation, and I assure you that you're seeing it at the earliest available opportunity. Of course, if you're reading this six months from now, it won't impact you at all, so ignore me. This is also pretty raw, and it's possible I'll edit slightly once I can see straight. To all who read, review, and recommend, my undying gratitude and love.

Twilight and every magical thing it involves is owned by Stephanie Meyer. I own a purple sheepskin-lined bag by Ugg, purchased in a frenzy of PMS.

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It is the bright day that brings forth the adder

BPOV

I race back to Forks at a speed which would probably earn me pole position at the Indy 500. Running upstairs, I rifle through my closet for the most concealing item in my wardrobe, lamenting the fact that Alice's mountain of accessories doesn't include a burka. I'd wear it, I swear I would. I decide on a charcoal gray turtleneck and a pair of black slacks, leaving only my head and my hands as evidence that I am made of flesh. I briefly consider wearing my gloves and a balaclava I'm pretty sure is stored somewhere with my winter gear, but grudgingly admit to myself that this would be a little obvious even to the least astute observer.

Now I'm slightly sweaty, but there's no time to rectify the situation, so I just flip my damp hair away from my forehead, shove some random and probably ill-matched clothing into the overnight bag I left on the stairs the first time I headed out tonight, and hop back in the car for the drive to Port Angeles.

By the clock in my dashboard, I've spent exactly 7 minutes in Forks.

I've been speeding along, but as I pause to consider the matter in my head, I realize that perhaps speeding isn't in my best interest. The faster I go, the sooner I get there, and once I'm there I have to face the all-knowing, all-seeing Dame Liz, who will bend her sharp eyes upon me and judge me for my unwholesome designs upon the person of her son.

Grabbing my phone, I speed dial Alice, who picks up on the first ring. "Hey, Bel! You'll never believe what-" she starts to babble.

"No, Al, shut up. Unless what you've got to say is so critical that your happiness or life depends on it, you have to hear what I just did." And I relate the entire sordid affair for her while she giggles and guffaws and apologizes for thinking that my abject humiliation is the most hilarious thing on earth.

"So what do I do when I get back there? I don't see how I can look her in the eye," I whimper.

Alice considers for a moment. "You know what? You go in there as cool as ice. Her son is a genetic freak of nature who is beautiful by any standard you care to use, and it's only natural that you'd want to get naked with him early and often. It's a sensible and logical reaction – anyone can see that. She birthed the boy, so she's got to be aware of this. Moreover, if viewed from a certain perspective, the fact that you ended up nearly naked on the doorstep tonight is really half her fault."

"Al, you're delirious. I'm not going to blame her because I can't keep my hands off of her son."

"Suit yourself. I'm only trying to take a trenchcoat lemon and make some parental lemonade for you," she says with a sniff. "My point is, you can either cower and feel bad about it, or let her know that you are completely unapologetic about loving her son. Of the two, I'm thinking the latter is the better option for you."

Here's just one of the things I adore about Alice. On the surface, she seems so carefree and spontaneous and silly – but what makes her truly dangerous is the fact that she's razor-sharp in people skills and rarely wrong about how to approach any social situation.

"You're right," I admit. "Okay, I'll go straight for her head, then. I'm sweaty and nervous, though."

"You'd be foolish not to sweat," she laughs. "But my guess is she'll be more interested in how _much_ you love him and less interested in the specifics of _how_ you love him."

I pull up to the house again and shift into Park. Several deep, cleansing breaths later, I exit the car and stride with purpose to the front door. This time, I use my key, because I am announcing the fact that _I BELONG HERE_ to all and sundry. Make no mistake about it, Dame Liz: your maddeningly perfect son and I are inevitable, whether you approve or not. I believe that, and if I can get you to believe it too, then we won't waste our time together arguing about the matter.

Edward and his parents are chatting away in the living room when I stick my head around the corner. He jumps off the couch and hustles over to me to give me a bracing hug.

"I see we went for maximum coverage," Edward whispers in my ear as he takes in my wardrobe choices. "Pity, that, but easily rectified later on." The jerk is wearing his glasses, as though my evening hasn't been stressful enough.

He raises his voice to announce that we should eat dinner. Dame Liz and Edward Sr. have studiously avoided looking at us while our little exchange was occurring, but they now stand and we all walk over to the dining room table, which Edward's prepared with his Crate and Barrel matching dishes. Serious business, is this meal.

While the Edwards chat, the Dame is asking me many polite questions about teaching, and my family, and my interests, and so forth. She's not a bit demanding or unpleasant to me. Just as I begin to relax and hope that we're going to forget all about the trenchcoat debacle, she suddenly leans in to me and whispers, "I don't like to embarrass you, Bella, but I feel that we should probably address the, ah, situation in which you found yourself earlier this evening, so that we can clear the air between us."

She pauses, and my deathwish is reanimated. I slide my eyes sideways to see if the Baronet-in-Training will be of any use in this situation, but no, he and his father are deep in an animated conversation about the travesty of malpractice insurance. I'm on my own. Time to put this woman in her place.

"Mrs. Masen," I begin in a firm tone. "I know that you're aware I was naked under my trenchcoat earlier this evening. Thank you for not making a big deal of it at the time. I want you to know that I'm not in the habit of wandering around town that way – I just thought it would be a nice surprise for Edward. I love your son. I want to make him happy, and part of that happiness definitely involves sex. We're crazy about each other, and yes, our sex life is an active and good one. If you judge me, I hope you'll judge me on my desire to please your son, and not on the actions that might involve. Finally, I really don't see that it's any of your business, as we're consenting adults and your arrival was an unexpected one, if you don't mind my pointing that out to you."

Dame Liz is blinking at me while I make this speech. I sound more than a little belligerent, but who is she to make me feel badly about the thing when she snuck up on us this way? It's best if she understands now that we won't tolerate that kind of interference. She sees that I'm done, so she puts both of her slender, delicate hands atop my own and gives me a gentle squeeze.

"Bella dear," she says softly, her Received Pronunciation washing over me like a genteel wave. "At the risk of being a bit too personal, I was merely going to share with you the fact that I did something quite similar when my Edward and I were first dating, only in my case it was a lab coat, and we were interrupted en flagrante in the doctor's lounge by several of his colleagues, a situation which has taken us many, many years to live down, and one which is still occasionally referred to at the odd reunion. I'm all commiseration, I assure you. And please, call me Liz or Lizzie."

I can't take any more, so I close my eyes and put my head down on the table. "I'm so sorry," is all I can manage. I just ripped my future mother-in-law a new one, and it turns out all she was trying to do was let me know that she's on my side. Edward looks over to notice that I'm taking what appears to be an après dinner snooze on a placemat, and he's naturally a bit curious as to why.

"Mother? Is Bella all right? Bella?"

I wave my hand at him to indicate that I'm still alive, even though I'm not at all certain I want to be.

"She's perfectly fine, Edward," Dame Liz soothes. "No worries. As you boys were, please."

Then she puts her lips close to my ear. "Bella, I wish you might understand how thrilled I am that Edward's found someone to love. I only ever want him to be happy, and am delighted beyond all reason that he's found happiness with such a genuine, lovely girl. I'd like to be your friend, if you'll let me. Please say we can be friends."

Sighing, I raise my head from the table to look at her. "I'm not usually this much of a catastrophe," I try weakly to reassure her. "I'm just really very nervous."

She laughs. "There's no reason whatsoever for you to be nervous, although I think it's probably a universal experience when meeting the parents of the man you love for the first time. I'm sure I was a barking lunatic when I met Edward's mother, and you can see that it didn't stop me from being happy in the end."

I'm trying to picture her as a barking lunatic. I'm trying to picture her as a barking anything, but keep drawing a blank.

"I'm genuinely terrified of you," I confess. "I realize that's probably irrational, but it's the truth."

"I promise to try to be less terrifying, then," she smiles. "Friends?"

"Yes, please. I'd like that very much," I answer, shaking her hand again. "Although I should warn you that I'm really just the warm-up act. You might change your mind about the whole thing when you meet my mother."

"Consider me duly warned. Will she be wearing a trenchcoat as well?"

Now I have to laugh, because I understand from whence Edward's sense of humor springs. "It's entirely possible – there's really no way of knowing in advance."

She asks me about how I met Edward, and what my first impressions of him were. I'm not sure she knows about his hi-jinks in Chicago, so I do my best to skirt the issue and let her know that he was charming, and funny, and odd, and wonderful, in addition to being quite the best-looking man I'd ever seen. I tell her that it was his dorkiness which ultimately stole my heart, and she nods her head in understanding.

"His father was the same. It's brutally unfair, really. Once they've decided on a course of action, they have no compunction whatsoever about using any method at their disposal to achieve their aims and are thoroughly unscrupulous. It was the blasted smile which proved to be my downfall."

Ah, the crooked smile. It's a force to be reckoned with, and felled no less a person than the Baronetess. I'm relieved to know I'm not the only one who is powerless against the thing.

"Whatever it is you're doing, I beg you to keep doing it," the Dame says earnestly. "Edward was always a rather serious child, and in retrospect, I realize we left him to his own devices far too often. He studied, and read, and did everything a parent could wish, and while he seemed perfectly content to do so, I never saw real joy in him – until tonight. He's pure joy around you. It's breathtaking, truly. I was beginning to despair of him ever finding someone who could awaken that in him. As thrilled as I am to see the change in my son, I'm doubly thrilled that I like what's caused the change so very much."

I blush furiously as she's speaking. After everything I've done tonight, I don't deserve this sort of warmth and charity from her. "I like you very much too," I answer. And I do. I really do, despite my earlier trepidation. She's fantastic.

We chat comfortably a little while longer, and then my Edward stands as if to say, 'Parents, begone – we have urgent private matters to attend to'. Dame Liz and Edward Sr. rise as well and make their farewells. I receive a feather-light hug and a kiss on the cheek from the Dame, and a much more awkward peck in the same location from Edward's father. Edward ushers them to the door and tells them that we'll see them again Friday evening, and then they're gone.

Edward closes the door behind them and leans up against it. "Whew. No blood on the floor, so I take it you don't despise each other?"

I walk over to where he's standing and wrap my arms around his waist. "The opposite. I think I'm well on my way to adoring her," I smile. He grins in response and kisses my forehead.

"My father liked you very much as well, although, as I'm sure you noticed, he's far less chatty than my mother. Given the time and the opportunity, he'll soon start talking your ear off as he gets a bit more comfortable, so be prepared."

"Aside from the premeditated nudity and the fact that I mistakenly chewed your mother out, I think that went pretty well. Now we just have to live through your introduction to Renee and Charlie, and we're home-free."

Edward's face puckers as I'm talking, and that makes me laugh. "I'd tell you to show up in a loin cloth, but that would probably only encourage my mother to start chatting about role-playing and fantasies, which I'm guessing aren't the kind of 'get to know you' topics you're hoping for. I have faith in her, though – she'll manage to freak you out somehow, and then I'll have the advantage again."

He shakes his head to dispel anxiety over the prospect of getting face-to-face with the _Kama Sutra_ welcome committee. "Say," he bites his lip, taking off his glasses and turning those bone-melting green eyes on mine with sly, ferocious intensity. "Are you still covered in skin? It's been so long since I've seen any of it on you, I forget." As if to make his point even more clear, he pulls the side of my turtleneck away from my neck and attacks the newly-exposed flesh there with his mouth, moving his lips slowly, too slowly along my jaw and then finally assaulting me with one of those Dunkin' Donuts Bavarian cream-filled huffable kisses which fry my brain and fill my dreams.

"Edward," I say coyly when I can speak again, "I find myself inconveniently overdressed for this activity. Care to help me out with that?"

"Miss Swan, it's my pleasure to help you now and always in all things, but especially when it concerns the removal of your clothing," he confirms, and, deftly scooping me up in his arms, he carries me upstairs. This part always amazes me. I realize that I don't weigh a million pounds, but he picks me up as though I was as light as sunshine. It makes me feel incredibly feminine, for some odd reason, even though my dangling foot making painful contact with the railing at the top of the stairs reminds me that we're not entirely free of potential bruising and accidents in the way that movie couples in a similar circumstance might be. We're still real, and us, and since I'm Bella, that's going to mean some bumps and scrapes on the road to romance.

"Crap. Are you okay?"

"Mmmhmm," I answer, reaching down to massage my ankle.

"I'm so sorry. I guess I need to tuck your feet in before I attempt these kinds of slick, romantic gestures," Edward laughs.

"Quit blaming yourself. It's all part of my innate charm, this ability to break bones and what-have-you. I wish I wasn't so clumsy," I sigh.

Edward pauses in the hallway to frown at me. "You're not really all that clumsy, Bella. Okay, well, you're a little clumsy sometimes. But I think that's only when you're thinking too much about it. In bed, for example, you're as graceful as a dancer."

He's impossible. Nobody's ever attempted to make me feel at all graceful in my entire life, and yet the tone he uses and his absolute conviction on the subject are so incredibly sweet to me.

"In that case, from this day forward, I'm never leaving the bed," I smile. "I wonder if the directors from the Bolshoi would agree to hold my auditions there."

"Nobody's going to audition you in my bed but me," he growls. "Come on – let's see how you do with a horizontal version of the pas de deux from your familial lake."

"My familial lake?"

"You know, the one with all the Swans," he grins.

Rehearsal on Thursday is a madhouse. Banner is so distracted that he looks as though he's going to have a seizure. Alice, Jessica, Angela and I are running lines with Leah and Emily, our understudies, both of who are enrolled at the university as drama majors. They're on top of things, so in the event that a giant chasm opens up tomorrow and swallows two of us whole, the play will go on.

I see Jasper hanging out in the front of the house with Edward. They're so relaxed it isn't even funny; Jasper's got his long legs slung over the row of seats in front of him, and Edward's teaching him some basic fencing moves with some of the prop foils while they chat and parry. The rest of the audience is empty except for three guys, who I learn are guests of James'. Apparently, they're part of a theatre troupe somewhere in California, and they're pretty high on Shakespeare, so Banner consented to let them watch our final rehearsal. I try to picture which roles they might be suited for – the large one with the blonde hair might be appropriate for some of the histories, but he'd be pretty useless in any of the comedies. The other two are slighter, and one of them has a face that's almost too sweet for a man. He's not pretty, but he's very boyish, and his hair is so long and thin that he's constantly flipping his head back to rid himself of his bangs. It looks vaguely as though he has a syndrome of some kind, and I think somebody who knows and likes him should suggest a haircut. For fans of the play, they all look pretty sullen, actually. Either they're moody bastards, or we suck.

Despite the nerves, the final run-through is very smooth. Banner wants to reblock a portion of the final wedding scene to make sure Jasper and Mike's faces at the big reveal are more clearly visible to the house, so we all end up sliding slightly downstage for the entire thing and cheating in to give them a better chance of cheating out. Banner doesn't trust that we'll remember these new positions, so he grabs some tape and marks out a few spots on the stage floor to remind us, then scribbles a few notes for the spot ops in the lighting booth.

I love being onstage with Edward. We trust each other and the material, so our exchanges are full of warmth and fun and spirit. It's magical. He's got such a glimmer in his eye when he's insulting me – it's as though half of him is really enjoying the opportunity to get a rise out of Beatrice, while the other half of him is just appreciating how little room for error she gives him. They're a perfect match. We're a perfect match. Alice and Jasper are similarly well-paired as Hero and Claudio, because they're all gooey and starry-eyed and sweet with each other, and, unlike Beatrice, Hero takes his slander seriously because she has such a tender heart. Beatrice would have kicked Claudio in the 'nads and told him where to go. It would have been a much, much shorter play had Claudio fallen in love with Beatrice.

Alice announces that everyone's welcome over to her parent's house tomorrow night for an after-show party. "Nothing fancy," she assures us, which I translate to mean that Esme is only hiring a forty-piece swing band and using the second-best silverware set for an eight-course, seated meal. "We'll have buses on-site to take you home in case you want to get ripped," she adds. Chauffeured buses are apparently what pass for casual in Esme's exotic head. Al also reminds me that I need to invite Edward's parents and my parents to this shindig. The more I consider the matter, the better that sounds to me, as we'll have loads of bodies to act as a buffer, and there's a good chance Aro will juggle them all into rapt silence without my having to issue a separate invitation for him.

Edward thinks it's a brilliant plan as well, so we grab our cell phones and set it up with our respective parents. "Please let your father know that Dr. Cullen runs an arms-free establishment, and he'll be asked to check his weapons at the door," Edward says. I can't believe he's really nervous about it. My father isn't likely to shoot him at first sight – his modus operandi is more to draw things out and taunt his prey. Charlie has a sick sense of humor that way, and ran off more than a few potential high school boyfriends with his various ploys.

We're at final bows now. Banner wants Jasper, Alice, Edward and me to do a separate bow from the rest of the cast. I don't feel great about that; we've all worked so hard for the past month and a half as an ensemble, and I'm not wild about being showcased like that. A quick huddle among the four of us yields a unanimous decision on the issue, and we present our case to him to see if he'll just let us do a group bow. He relents, but insists that we stand in the center of the group, which seems reasonable to us.

"Okay, everyone, huddle up," Banner says. We're all calm now, and the madness which colored the earlier part of rehearsal has given way to controlled excitement. "I'm pretty fucking proud of you all and the job you've done here, and I know you're going to kill tomorrow night. Get a good night's sleep, stay calm, stay focused. And be here no later than 6 PM tomorrow for any final notes and prep. The first show's the hardest, but it's also the most fun – so let's remember the fun and enjoy it, okay? And thank you, all of you, for all of your hard work. You make me look brilliant," he grins. "The Port Angeles Players have a tradition on opening night – every member of the cast and crew slugs down a shot of Springbank 1970, for the year I was born. I buy a new bottle for every production, and it's sacred. Anyone who whines about not liking scotch will sit out the show and I'll bring in an understudy to take his or her place – the only exemptions are the dead and the pregnant. Got it?"

I groan a little, because I'm not good with shots. Edward threads his arm through mine and continues to wind it around my waist. "Sshh," he murmurs soothingly, only for my ears. "Could be worse. He could be reimagining your costume as a trenchcoat."

Ever helpful is Edward, particularly with regard to encouraging my nervous conditions. I'm sure it's also payback for all the weird title names I keep flinging at him.

Alice, Jasper, Edward and I decide to head over to the diner on Oak Street to grab a cup of coffee and discuss our upcoming game of musical housemates. It's ten o'clock, and three of us are pretty tired, but one of us is wired to the wall and jumping around like a caffeine queen. Those shoes are too small for me.

"Wait!" Alice says brightly. "I have the _best_ idea. Why don't we try to do all of this in a single day? That way, we can use one moving company and get it all finished in one fell swoop."

Edward scratches his chin. "I don't see why that wouldn't work, but I'm going to insist on paying for it. We can use the company I had when I moved into my – sorry, _our_ house. They were really very good, and only broke the things I didn't like to begin with."

There's some struggle between Jasper and Edward on footing the bill for the mover, but Edward is intractable and eventually Jasper's mellow nature defeats him. We decide to fix the date of the big move for two weeks from this coming Saturday. The play will have ended, parents will have flown away, and it will give us enough time to pack and plan.

Satisfied, we settle up and split. I'm vaguely uncomfortable about having Edward pay for the movers, and I tell him so, which makes him stop our forward progress toward his car in the diner parking lot and grab me firmly by my shoulders. "Bella," he says, and he's uncharacteristically serious. "We need to get something straight between us right now. I. Have. Money. Lots and lots and lots of it. I understand and fully appreciate your desire to remain financially independent to a certain extent, but you need to understand that I have finally found something – or rather, someone – I actually want to spend that money on. Moreover, _I_ asked _you_ to live with me. It's because of _me_ that there is suddenly the expense of shifting all your worldly possessions from one location to another. Humor me, please."

He's part logical, part ridiculous, and all lovely. It's pointless to argue, so my only option is to throw a change-up. "All right," I pout. "But…are you _sure_ you're really that rich?"

Edward cocks an eyebrow at me. "Pretty sure, yes. Why?"

I smile sweetly at him. "I just want to make sure there's enough money left over for you to buy me a pony. I want a white one, with a long silky tail, and I will name it Princess even if it's a boy pony. Also, I want you to build me a castle with four turrets and sleeping quarters for at least a dozen liveried footmen."

My reward for this little speech is a swift kiss and a laugh. "I like that you dream big, Bella. But point taken. I'll introduce you to material excess in a very gradual way."

Friday morning dawns cloudy, but free of the almost incessant drizzle of a Washington State autumn. I spend the two hours between Edward's early-shift departure and my wake-up alarm dozing fitfully and dreaming of the two of us seated at opposite ends of an enormous dining room table. We're both naked, and supping on grilled cheese sandwiches served on gold plate by Dame Liz, who is wearing roller skates, knee pads, a lab coat, and a chin guard. I make a note to myself upon waking that caffeine so close to bedtime yields disturbing results for my psyche.

Work drags on today. My students all have their minds fixed on their weekend plans, and no matter how hard I try to haul them back into the world of literature, they are straining at the leash, eager to break free and completely incapable of sustaining interest or concentration on anything in any of these lectures. I abandon the attempt somewhere around noon and just spend the rest of the day on autopilot, thinking about opening night. My mother has left me a total of six voice mail messages, each one telling me to relax and enjoy myself, and reminding me that they should be getting into town just before curtain tonight because Charlie had to work today and they couldn't catch an earlier flight. Half of me wants to call her back to let her know that multiple frantic exhortations to relax will generally have the exact opposite effect on a person, but she wouldn't understand that and I don't want to make her feel badly for cheering me on. I comfort myself with the certainty that she will do something this evening to make Edward wish he possessed the power of instant invisibility. God, it's going to be fun to watch him squirm.

I'm finally free at four o'clock. I race back to Forks to shower and change, making sure I've packed enough clothing for the after-show party and the weekend, just in case I don't make it back here until Sunday. Alice has thoughtfully prepared a wardrobe list for me, because she is convinced that I need adult Garanimals in order to manage the more complicated social situations in my life. Sadly, she's right, so I don't argue with her master list. I just pack what she tells me to pack without another thought, and carry everything out to the car with me.

I check twice to make sure I have plenty of spare underwear in the pile, because I am definitely a "fool me once" kind of girl.

Driving back to Port Angeles, I stow my bags at the house and wait for Edward. Banner's said that he'll have snacks and such in our dressing rooms prior to the show, but that his experience has been that first-timers are generally not capable of eating anything at all before a show. He reminded us that stage regurge has a chilling impact on an audience, and never more so than when it's a comedy they came to see. We're to eat with caution, but make sure we stay hydrated.

And honestly, I'm not hungry. My stomach is one big knot for a variety of reasons. In a few short hours, I will be standing in front of an audience, with the responsibility of carrying one of the best roles Shakespeare ever wrote for a woman. My parents are going to be meeting my boyfriend, with whom I will shortly be shacking up. His parents will be meeting my parents. And that wonderful, odd, beautiful man will be standing opposite me, saying the lines which form the character of one of Shakespeare's most appealing males.

The wonderful, odd, beautiful man in question steps through the front door to find me standing in the living room. Grinning, he puts his keys down and looks up at me. "Pardon me, are you the lady of the house?"

I nod. "I am. How can I help you?"

He sidles up to me, stopping just in front of me and keeping his hands at his sides. "Oh, well, as to that, I have a list." We're standing so close to each other now that his forehead is a mere inch from mine, but he doesn't kiss me. Instead, he merely subjects me to his proximity, letting me feel the heat that radiates from his body, and smell the scent of him, and letting his warm breath caress my face. All of this heat and scent and nearness creates a brain cloud in me. My throat is suddenly parched, because every drop of moisture in my body has decided to pool between my thighs.

"We have no time for this tantric experiment now, Edward," I murmur, although I am struggling to convince myself that it's true. "We're due at the theatre in ten minutes."

He sighs. "Stick a pin in it, though, because I definitely want to get back to it at the earliest available opportunity." He finally wraps his arms around me. "Are you nervous about tonight?"

"A little bit," I confess. "Stay where I can see you, and I'll be okay."

"Stay where _I_ can see you, and I'll rush through all my lines," he laughs. "Let's go and get it over with, shall we?"

We drive over to the theatre in his car, and we both laugh at the huge sign on the marquee announcing "The Port Angeles Players Present – _Much Ado About Nothing_". Our castmates are filtering in and with a few moments, we're all accounted for. The girls and I retreat to our dressing room to change.

Alice naturally insists on tweaking everyone's hair and makeup, and she's brought along some beautiful satin ribbons for us to use as waist sashes. The sashes take the costumes to a whole new level – we look like a rainbow of fairy princesses. Alice curls the ends of my hair into soft, springy spirals, then gathers the sides and pulls them up to my crown, leaving several wisps of hair to frame my face. "Aahh," she laughs when she's finished. "You look fresh – and feisty."

The girl's dressing room is on the small side, but there are enough chairs to accommodate us all and one very large, well-lit mirror lining one wall, under which runs a white laminate counter. Our costumes are all on a rolling wardrobe against the back wall of the room, so we pull our things off of their hangers and transform ourselves into lusty Sicilian wenches. Alice dusts a bit of shimmery powder on each of our cleavages "to remind us that we're more than words and lines". Jessica's giggling like crazy and announces that she can't wait until Mike licks the powder off of her, which makes the rest of us silently heave and beg her to keep what she and Mike are up to behind closed doors – and mouths. Alice lets a huge sneeze rip as she taps her makeup brush free of powder residue; thank goodness that the room comes equipped with full tissue boxes. I notice that a large, portable humidifier is percolating away on the far end of the counter. When I stop to consider why we need that, I conclude it's to keep our voices supple. There's also a hot plate with a carafe of water and some Throat Coat tea bags next to Styrofoam cups.

We all assemble onstage at six forty-five for final notes. There are very few of them, because Banner's pretty thrilled with the way that everything has shaken out, but we still spend over a half-hour going through every detail. He runs us briefly through the reblock of the second wedding and reminds us about the tape marks. With that out of the way, he fires up the shot glasses, pours the Springbank, and we all stand in a circle.

"To a fantastic cast and crew," Banner begins. "To the packed house out there. To acting. To Shakespeare. To The Port Angeles Players!" We throw our shots back in one and tap out on the folding table our sound engineer's set up in one of the wings. The house doors are open, and we can hear the audience settling in, so Banner shoos us all back to the dressing rooms with instructions to wait there until we get our call for "places".

I run over to Edward and give him a quick, frantic kiss. "See you in about two and a half hours," I grin. "Until then, you'd better bring your best Benedick, because Beatrice is going on a tear tonight."

"I'm going to school you on what a tear looks like, darling girl," he answers with a smirk. "Better carry a tissue or two, so you have something to cry into."

I put my face right into his. "Is this as hot for you as it is for me?" I whisper.

"God yes," he whispers back. "It'll be sex al fresco for us tonight, because I don't want to have to fill out insurance claims on what we'll do to the house if we keep it indoors."

"I love you," I smile at him.

"I love you right back," he answers, putting his fingers under my chin and giving me one last peck before we dash off to our respective dressing rooms.

My head's a touch fuzzy from the Springbank, and it's burned my throat a bit, but I feel fantastic. The girls and I are giddy as we disappear into our dressing room, laughing and chattering and totally charged up. Emily and Leah start to tell us about some of the plays they've worked on at the university workshops, and how they think we'd stack up to anyone over there who was attempting to do this as a career. While we're talking, someone rushes down the hallway and closes the door to our dressing room with a bang, I'm guessing because we were making too much noise.

The little room is stuffy, but it's cool outside and the heat in here feels cozy and nice. We continue to giggle like teens at a slumber party, getting giddier and giddier as the minutes tick by.

After about ten minutes, I notice that something's not quite right with me. I only had one shot of scotch, and even with my low tolerance, I shouldn't be feeling quite this loopy. I squint at the clock. It's seven forty-five, and they'll be calling "places" in another five minutes or so. God, I hope I straighten up by then.

I look over at Alice, and that's when the haze in my head really starts to trouble me. Alice is _never_ this loopy when she's drunk. I have seen her down the better part of a bottle of Wild Turkey and not betray herself by so much as one twitch of a muscle. She's sitting _on the floor_. Alice. In costume. On the floor. That sequence of observations doesn't make any sense at all to me – it's a revolt of everything natural and right in the universe. And this means that something is very wrong here.

"Al?" My voice sounds funny to my ear. Slightly tinny, and far away.

Alice looks up at me, not seeing. "Hey," she slurs vaguely.

My head is spinning now, and I feel a little sick. "What…do you…" I start to ask her, but suddenly my mind stops being able to form thoughts. My arms and legs feel like sawdust-filled draft snakes. The other girls in the room seem to melt off their chairs like models for a painting by Dali. We're a surrealist's dream team as we slide and slump our various ways to the floor. Once I'm down there, I can't move. I'm so inert some small part of me realizes that my mouth is open and my tongue is hanging out. I can feel my eyelids start to droop, lower and lower with each successive blink, until they close entirely.

I feel happily frightened. Hilariously scared. Giddily terrified.

And then, I feel nothing, because it all fades to black and I'm gone.

# # #

A/N – As though that wasn't evil enough, I need to forewarn you here that the next chapter may take slightly longer to produce. I mean, not months and months or even weeks and weeks, but possibly as much as two weeks if it gets really tricky. I'm attempting what I'm going to call a "hot potato" chapter for the next little bit, which will include many POVs chained together by a series of non-sequiturs. Can't explain it here, but I swear it won't make your eyes bleed like the pillow talk chapter. If it works, it should be fun. And if it doesn't, I'll have to scrap it all and go with the as-yet-unformed Plan B.

Have a terrific week, and thank you again for reading and reviewing and being all crazy great to me. I love hearing from you, so speak up!


	22. The whirlygig of time

# # #

The whirlygig of time

_Embry_

I swear to God, I hate the hour before curtain. Doug's riding my ass like Zorro, and I haven't had dinner yet – unless you're counting the two-thirds of a bran muffin and four carrot sticks I managed to swipe from catering. I didn't even finish the stupid bran muffin because one of the idiots in the play came crashing down the hallway and knocked it out of my hands. Some glory gig this is. Stinking community theatre for extra credit. I know I'm lucky, though, because Sam wanted the production assistant gig too, and I elbowed my way in here by calling Doug before Professor Zanos made his decision. Heh. Who's the big dog now, Sam? You can go ahead and crawl back into the black box rehearsal space to tech for freshmen, because I'm out in the real world. Kinda.

This headset itches like a bitch, and it's making my left ear sweat. Gross. I don't care what anyone says, I'm gonna duck out to the bathroom and take a whiz before calling "places". A minute late, tops. I can't piss and think at the same…

_Alice_

…time have I been out? I can hear the groan in my head before it reaches my throat. I have _never_ gone down for the count like this before. What the hell just happened?

My eyelids feel as though someone tied fifty-pound weights to the ends of my lashes. It takes me three tries before I finally pop my eyes open to see if I'm still in one piece. What I find when my eyes finally cooperate is scary.

The rest of the girls in the play are sort of sprawled all over the floor like we're in some kind of hookah palace at midnight. I can see that they're all breathing, though, so that's something. I take a deep breath myself and notice through the haze in my head that the air feels a little thick and it smells faintly sweet, which I remember I noticed earlier. Strange.

But what finally gets me motivated is the fact that I've noticed _I'm sitting on the goddamned floor._ Don't get me wrong – if, for instance, Jasper and I are having sex, I don't care if I'm on the floor, or the ceiling, or the hood of a car. But when I'm in clothes, I do _not_ sit on the floor. Ever. I must have been truly trashed, but I only had one shot, so that doesn't make any sense at all.

I shift my body until I'm kneeling, and then I slowly stand. My head's pounding; we need some fresh air in here. I stumble over to the door and throw it open, and a blast of reasonably fresh air hits me in the face, waking me up completely and making me feel almost human again.

It only takes a moment before I can hear the girls behind me start to stir. Jessica's first off the blocks, and the way she wakes up makes me feel sorry for Mike and whoever comes after him, because she shrieks. She _shrieks_. I know she's probably freaked out, but come on.

"Aaaagh!" She says it twice, as though once wasn't enough to give me reason to strangle her. The Jessica alarm wakes everyone else up in a hurry, and they're all kind of moaning and writhing into consciousness. I whip around as quickly as I can given the size of the headache I've got and kneel down over Bella.

God, she's so pale. Her pretty hair is all tangled now, and how the hell am I going to straighten that out in a minute or two?

"You okay?" she croaks up at me. I love her to death, but honestly, she's the one crashed on the floor and I'm mostly vertical, so what kind of sense does a question like that make?

"Yeah, I'm good," I answer. "You?"

"Don't know yet. What the hell happened?"

"No clue. But it happened to all of us."

"My head is killing me," she complains, as she pushes herself up so she's resting on her elbows with her forearms to support her.

"Mine too. Ugh."

Banner's P.A. Embry pokes his head through the door. He looks pissed initially, but when his eyes take in the landscape of the dressing room, that changes quickly to fear and confusion. "What the hell? What happened? Are you guys okay?"

And without waiting for an answer, he disappears down the hallway. Two seconds later, while we're all still trying to wake up and rejoin the living, Banner, Jasper, Edward, Mike, and Ben come crashing through the doorway. This room is barely big enough to hold us girls, let alone the five of them.

"Oh my God," Banner wails like a little girl. "We're five minutes to curtain. What did you people do in here? If you're doing drugs, I have to cancel the show."

Edward and Jasper push roughly past him as though he's just an idea as opposed to a flesh-and-blood person. The look on Jasper's face – it just kills me, makes me want to jump him where he stands and shred whatever we're wearing and ride him without a saddle until we faint. I smile at him to let him know that I'm okay and he can stop freaking out, because "freak out" and "Jasper", like "fully-clothed" and "floor", are not things that belong next to each other in my thinking. He pays no attention to my reassuring smile and grabs me by my hands anyway.

"Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

"I'm fine, honey, I promise," I say. "I have no idea what happened. One minute we were laughing, and the next minute I was waking up with a massive headache. Oh, Jasper, I woke up _on the floor_," I complain. It's an outrage. He hugs me close to him and pats my back in a comforting fashion, knowing better than to get his hand anywhere near my hair. I love the pants off of this man. He's totally perfect in every way.

Edward's on his knees next to Bella, who is now sitting up. Strangely, "freak out" works better for him than it does for Jasper, and all he can do is kiss her and whisper her name over and over and over again. Once he's certain that Bella's okay, he checks on the rest of us to make sure we don't need immediate medical attention. He's good like that, and it's handy that he's a doctor. The other girls are in various states of hangover agony, but everyone's alive and moving. Edward asks them all several questions to make sure that they're lucid and that nothing's broken or hurting. Then he stands up and his eyes sweep the room like he's looking for something. They stop when they see the humidifier in the corner, and he practically leaps over Angela to get to it. He takes one big sniff, utters a string of impressive curses, and yanks the plug out of the wall socket. He turns his face back to Banner, who is watching this all while practically hopping up and down from nerves.

I can see Edward's face slide from frightened concern to metal-warping anger. It's pretty scary, actually, but kind of hot, too. "Who had access to this room before the girls got here?" he barks at Banner.

"The door was open, so pretty much anyone who was backstage could have gone in here at some point," Banner answers. He's frantic now, but there must be a small part of him that is focused on trying to figure out what the heck happened here. I can see that most of him is trying desperately to keep from shoving all of us onstage. "Why?"

"Because from the smell of it, someone dumped ether in the humidifier, that's why," Edward snarls. "And when I find the son of a bitch who's responsible, I'm not going to leave much behind for a coroner to work with." He tosses his car keys to Mike and asks him to get the medical kit out of his trunk. "The silver Volvo," he spits, and turns back to Bella to time her pulse with his wristwatch.

I look up at the clock in the dressing room – it's now 7:58. We're supposed to go on in two minutes, but how the hell can we possibly…

_Doug Banner_

…play? I mean, I care about the girls, of course I do, but shit, the play! What the hell am I supposed to do, here? The rest of the cast is in the hallway, trying to crane their necks to get a peek in here and see what's going on. Oh, I needed this like I need another hole in my ass. I'm going to have to make an announcement. Do I have to cancel? I've been doing this for almost twenty years, and I've _never_ canceled a performance – not one.

Embry taps me on the shoulder. "What should we do, boss?" Like I know. Like this is a decision I can make at the moment. Should I cancel? Call an ambulance? Call the police? What? "Edward? What do you think I should do, here? Are they in any condition to go on tonight?"

He doesn't even turn his head to look at me, but I can tell he's talking through gritted teeth. "Let me just make sure their vitals are decent. The ether shouldn't have compromised them too much, but I'm going to go ahead and guess that right now, they've all got splitting headaches at the very least and I'd want them to rest for a while before doing anything. We need to get them out of this room, and then I need to check them over and make sure. Can we delay the show until they've had some rest, some fluids, and some aspirin at least?"

"How long?"

"If everyone's okay, I'd say forty-five minutes, at a bare minimum. But we still have to find the asshole responsible for this."

James clears his throat. "Doug? I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I have an idea."

I raise my eyebrows at him. Maybe he's got some kind of miracle cure for inhalant hangovers, which would definitely come in handy right around now.

"You know how my friends were watching rehearsal yesterday? Well, they're really familiar with the play, and I'll bet that they could, you know, pinch-hit for the girls until they're feeling better. They watched dress last night, so they know the basic blocking. Maybe they could cover, say, the first act or two for you?"

It's insane. What are they going to do – walk out there dressed like guys falling in love with other guys? "James, I don't see how that's going to work. We don't even have costumes for them. And, you know, they're…guys."

James puts his chin up slightly at that. "It was good enough for Shakespeare, so I don't see why it wouldn't be good enough for you. I think we can work out costumes – they're traveling with stuff because they were just doing a show in Napa before they headed up here. It's either this or cancel the show, because you can't keep the audience waiting forever," he shrugs. He's got to know saying that is going to twist me into knots.

_Shit_. This would have to happen on opening night. I rake my fingers over my face.

"I have to put this to the cast," I decide. "If it's okay with everyone, then we'll do the first act with your guys. Jesus, what a clusterfuck." We have to go on tonight. We can't give refunds, because the house is paid in advance and we'd lose all the…

_Orchestra Row F, Seats 12, 14, 16, 18, and 20, respectively_

_Money._

_Sex._

_Money._

_Sex._

Poodle. _Aah, my Dionysus. Why would they not permit you in the theatre this evening? Ignorant savages. I miss you, precious…_

_Edward_

…time. But we're fresh out of the stuff - curtain must already be a few minutes late. I hear Doug and James talking, and although the idea is completely ridiculous, it would buy the girls an act or two to feel better. Personally, I'm having a difficult time focusing on anything other than the fact that I want to rip someone's throat out. I'm not an angry person by nature, but seeing Bella like that, sprawled on the floor, disoriented and drugged, made me crazy. It took everything in me to stop shaking like an epileptic in seizure and put my education to use helping them. I just wanted to pick her up and hold her as close to me as I possibly could. Jesus, here's a major reality check for me: if something serious ever happens to Bella, there is absolutely no way I'll survive it. My only hope will be to find and obliterate the motherfucker responsible for injuring her, then join her in whatever world comes after this one.

_Pull yourself together, Edward. You're useless to her like this, and you need a clear head. She needs you to be a calm adult now, not a madman with murder on his mind._

I have no concrete reason to do so, but I instantly suspect that James is somehow involved in this situation. My first instinct is to tear off his head and piss down his neck, but that's not going to get me answers or proof. It's also not at all my style, I think.

_Be smart. What's the smart thing to do, here? Do the smart thing, get your answers, and then I'll let you do what you need to do to let him and whoever else is involved know what happens when they try to touch a single hair on the head of the woman I love more than life._

Okay, Sherlock, let's try process of elimination. Ben is completely harmless, Mike is an idiot, and Jasper – please, Jasper is out of the question. Pete's a cop, Bill's a small-town plumber, and the rest of the guys in the cast are college kids who just want to play beer pong. The sound engineer and the lighting techs are professionals. This is too extreme for a frat stunt. That leaves James, who has no known ties to this community and who's never volunteered a single iota of information about himself. Bella's said on more than one occasion that he gives her the creeps, which I can verify because he gives me the creeps as well. _James._

_I need time, and a plan. I need to talk this over with Jasper, and then Pete._

First things first – I have to address the play situation with Doug. Let James and his friends take the first act, so I can keep them where I can see them.

"I'm in," I tell Banner. "Jasper and Ben are, too." Jasper looks up at me, and I shoot him a look to let him know that we need to do this. He nods and turns back to Alice. "We'll just let Mike know he has no choice. Tell James to set it up."

Doug looks as though he's going to start crying, but whether that's from relief or misery, I have no idea. He runs out of the room to make a stage announcement and get everyone ready for the switch. I help Bella stand up, and then we lead the girls out to the hallway, where Doug's P.A. has thoughtfully set up a few chairs. Mike returns with my bag, and I quickly check them over to make sure their vitals are good. I tell him that James' friends are going to be taking the female roles for the first act or two, and he blanches, but accepts his fate.

Tapping Jasper on the shoulder, I move him away from the girls for a moment. "I want Carlisle to come back here and keep an eye on the girls, but I didn't want to call him without talking to you first, because you're the one dating his daughter. Okay with you?" Jasper nods. "Wouldn't I just love to get my hands on the sumbitch who did this," he drawls, the Texan in him charging to the surface and waving a red flag.

"Pull Pete aside and ask him how quickly he can get someone down here to run fingerprints," I whisper to Jasper. "Tell him he needs to keep it very, very quiet."

"What are you thinking?" he whispers back.

"James and company," I answer. Jasper's off like a shot to grab Pete. If we're going to do this, I realize that we have to do this quickly.

"Edward?" Bella's voice is too quiet, and it burns through me like fire. "What are you two whispering about?"

I stroke her hair in response. "Look at me," I ask, and she raises her eyes to my face. "I have to find out who did this to you. I'm not much in the cloak and dagger line, but I need to make sure that we try to figure this out as quickly as possible, because if we don't do it now, we might never get a chance."

"Don't hurt anyone," she responds. "We're all okay."

"Not the point, but I get it," I answer her with a tight jaw.

"Listen, Edward," she says in a firmer voice, then wincing at the sound. "I'm not baking you a cake with a file in it. Behave yourself - Renee's pretty relaxed, but Charlie won't be thrilled about me shacking up with a jailbird."

It should be impossible under the circumstances, but somehow, she manages to make me smile. God, she'd better agree to marry me, and soon, because I just adore the hell out of her. I want my name on her, and my ring on her, and possibly some kind of identifying tattoo and an alarm system to keep potential intruders well away from her.

Banner comes racing back down the hallway. "We're on in ten," he pants. "For God's sake, I'm begging you all - keep it together." Then he runs toward the stage again, scattering his notes in his wake. He's totally lost his mind.

"Trust me," I say to Bella. "I have a plan."

She rolls her eyes to the back of her head and closes her lids over them. "The four most dangerous words in the English language," she groans weakly. "Please don't tell me any more - I can't take it."

I hand the girls some aspirin and tell them to keep as quiet as they can. Ben's fetched them all bottles of water, and when I leave them, they're perched like birds on a wire, pretty maids all in a row of plastic folding chairs.

My call with Carlisle is brief and to the point. He doesn't panic, which is good, and I assure him that vitals are fine and the girls are recovering nicely. I kind of gloss over the deliberate nature of the ether exposure, choosing instead to have him believe this was somehow purely accidental, and ask him to make his way from the audience to the backstage door so that he can check them over for himself - I've left my bag next to their chairs for him to use. Fighting my way past the bottleneck in the stage left wing, I find Jasper and grab his arm. "News?"

"Pete's on it," Jasper confirms. "He says that the guy from forensics will be here in five minutes with his kit and his laptop. He can upload the prints to the FBI office in Seattle, and if there's a hit in the AFIS database, they'll know within an hour or so."

"Not fast enough," I mutter, frustrated. "How are you at picking pockets?"

Jasper arches an eyebrow in my direction. "Do I look like somebody who makes a habit out of that?"

"You know what I mean. I've never done it either, but if we can get our hands on some ID, we can speed up the process. Where are those guys changing?"

He shrugs. "Our dressing room, I guess."

I bump his shoulder with mine to let him know we're headed in that direction whether he likes it or...

_Renee_

...not going to appear in the first act? Whyever not? We just made it to our seats, puffing and anxious from the mad scramble out of the airport, and now my baby's not in the first act? The man who made the stage announcement seemed pretty wound up, but he just said that the ladies had been delayed for the first act and asked us to humor them while some very unorthodox understudies tried to fill the gap. If this was planned, that guy should be in the cast - he really looked terrified.

I look over at Charlie, who's trying desperately to make himself comfortable in the red plush velvet seat next to me. This man is not a regular appreciator of the arts, and it's a testament to how much he loves our kid that he's wearing a collared shirt and a sport coat.

"Honey? You don't think anything's wrong back there, do you?" I don't want to rile him up if I don't have to, because that's never a long walk for him on his best day.

Charlie grunts. "Acting," is all he says. Based on decades of having to decode his cryptic utterances, I'm going to go ahead and guess that he thinks this is just a part of the artistic vision the director has for the play. I'm not sure I agree, but best leave it alone. At least I'll finally see Edward. I'm still buzzing from the news that my baby's finally got a man in her life. And in her bed. I can't wait to see what finally caught her...

_James_

...attention to what Doug is saying, but I'm all kinds of freaked out now, because I can't believe we've actually gotten this far. We scrambled into the skirts and wigs that I stashed in my duffle bag. Shit, Demetri should have shaved. He looks ridiculous, but I get that he's trying to make a statement. And of course he wants Beatrice, because he's a selfish prick and takes the best part even though this whole thing was on my shoulders from jump. At least I get to be Hero. Yeah, I'm some kind of hero, all right.

"I don't expect the blocking to be perfect, but just watch the guys and do the best you can," Doug is jabbering. "Just keep it going so that the girls have a chance to recover. You lot are the strangest bunch of understudies I've ever had, but I'm grateful to you for making it possible to get the show up so I don't have to cancel. I don't know how this is going to work. Do your best - it's all I can ask."

_The girls_. I hate that I had to drug them, but it was either the ether or laxatives or charcoal, and I tried to be polite and thoughtful about the thing so I chose the ether. At least they got a high out of it. Demetri was pissed that I didn't do Visine, but I hear that stuff is really dangerous, and these people have been nothing but nice to me.

Felix and Alec are hopping around like toads on speed. I don't know why, but Felix has decided that he needs to rouge his cheeks in two large circles - he looks like a John Wayne Gacy kind of drag clown. I just want to do this and get the hell out of here.

The four of us huddle in a corner for a moment before we need to take our places. "Okay," I say, but Demetri cuts in before I have a chance to finish the pep talk. "Take it all the way," he commands us, as though this wasn't my mission from the start and he's in charge. "Don't let them hustle you off no matter what. We have a real chance to _say_ something here, so don't blow it."

God, he's such an ass...

_Jasper_

...hole and ended up in a bizarre alternate universe. I'm not a shifty character, and yet Edward's convinced me that swiping IDs from pockets is a great idea. I'd rather just bring it to these idiots, shoot first and ask questions later, but Edward's got to get all creative about the thing. He's like the Pied Piper of Crazy.

We pass the IDs over to Pete's friend, who showed up, panting, at the backstage door two minutes ago. "I'm on it," he says, and sets up camp in a dark corner with his cell phone and his wireless dongle. We tell him he should call for backup and have another two guys here just in case, and he agrees. Nothing more we can do.

"Hey," Edward whispers to me as we head back to the stage left wing. "Let's make them as miserable as we can onstage. I don't know what they're up to, but if they worked this hard to get the girls out of the way, they clearly want to be up there. Make 'em suffer for it any way you can."

"Just what the hell are you suggesting?"

Edward stops to consider the matter for a minute. "I don't know. They want to be the girls? Okay, then, I say we give them the full treatment. Stand too close. Touch too much. Pinch an ass if you get the chance. Do some leering."

He's insane. "What if they're into that kind of thing? What if they're not guilty? What if they just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time?"

"At least it'll help channel some of this aggression until we find out who's really responsible," he answers.

"So we pinch an ass until we can crack a skull?"

"Yeah."

I can't believe I'm gonna agree to this. "You're explaining it to Carlisle afterward. I don't want him to think I swing that way."

"You think you've got worries? Bella's parents are in the audience. I've never met them. Her mother already thinks I'm some kind of perverted sex fiend, and her father's the Chief of Police back home."

"Way to set yourself up for an awkward handshake," I grin. "Promise me I get to watch it when it goes down."

"Are you kidding? I'll probably use you as a shield," he answers. "Right now, I don't care about anything other than finding out who did this and making them pay for it before the law steps in and gets all clean and 'innocent until proven guilty' about it. I'll worry about talking my way out of trouble with her father after I've had my shot at them. Pass the word to Mike."

I lean over and let Mike know he can be as Mike as he likes onstage. he doesn't understand what the hell I'm talking about, so I tell him to make like the guys in the wigs are super-hot sorority sisters. I tell him it's a joke. These directions, he understands.

"Places," hisses Doug. We're out of time to chat. Edward grabs my shoulder and shakes it to make sure I'm with him, and I nod. Man, are we about to look stupid. I can't believe we're doing this for free.

The curtain goes up, and Ben walks out on stage, looking like he's fixin' to share last night's dinner with his shoes. Behind him are James, who is playing Hero, and James' hulking, pock-marked friend, who is playing Beatrice. I know this whole situation is serious and I want to put my boot in someone's ass over it, but I have to laugh when I think about the fact that Edward's going to be making time with Stretch over there. He's all kinds of ugly. Edward's gotta flirt with a girl who's got bad skin and major stubble.

I look over at him, and he knows what I'm thinking. His response is to point to James and mimic kissing, and I suddenly remember that Hero and Claudio kiss at the beginning of Act II. Ugh. Alice had better be feeling ready to go soon, because there is no way in hell I'm introducing James to the magic lips. They are strictly reserved for the uterine crowd. Edward puts both of his thumbs in the air as a sarcastic comment, because he is Baronet Bastard at the moment.

At least opening night jitters are kind of non-existent with everything else that's going on around here. Hell, audience optional at this point. We've got drama to spare.

'_Don Pedro is approached'_, says the messenger. That's our cue.

Edward, the kid who's playing Balthazar, Mike and I stroll onstage like we've got zeppelins in our trousers. Bill is pinch-hitting for James as Don John, and he looks pissed about it, which works for the character.

Oh, Christ, Edward makes a beeline straight toward ugly Beatrice. I have no idea what he's planning to do, but from the look on his leering face, it's sure not going to be very nice. He sidles on up close to him/her/it while Don Pedro's saying 'hi' to Leonato. Bearded Beatrice looks a little startled, but puts her chin up and stays in character, even when Edward casually slings an arm up around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze.

What the hell. Taking my cue from him, I walk on over to James and grab him roughly by his waist. He actually squeaks, but gets a grip on himself pretty quickly and tries to pay attention to the dialogue between Don Pedro and Leonato.

Now Mike gets into the spirit. Don Pedro's saying

_'You embrace your charge all too willingly - I think this is your daughter.'_

There's an indecent stress on the word "think" there, because really, if this is his daughter, he probably wouldn't want to go around announcing that fact. Ben actually laughs before he answers

_'Her mother hath many times told me so.'_

Edward's totally enjoying himself, and we've barely gotten started. Benedick says

_'Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?'_

Hell yes, he was in doubt, and rightly so. His daughter's sporting some mighty unorthodox hardware under that crinoline.

Beatrice is getting pretty pissed off, but Edward couldn't care less. I tighten my arm around James and start picking at his wig while Edward and Beatrice go at each other.

_'What, my dear lady Disdain! Are you yet living?'_

As Edward's delivering the line, he chooses to emphasize each word by poking Beatrice in her non-existent tits. He pokes one after the other in a strange game of "eeny meeny miny moe". I can hear the audience gasp and start to laugh.

_'Is it possible that Disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her presence,'_

Beatrice answers, struggling to keep a falsetto going because she's pretty pissed about the tit-poking. Edward is all unruffled evil, and twists the lines to suit himself.

_'Then is courtesy a turn-coat - but it is certain I am loved of all __ladies_ (and here he makes as though he's going to lift her skirt to check out the goods for himself before Beatrice shoves his hands away and pulls her skirt back down), _only you are excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not such a __hard__ heart _(punctuated by a groin grab of his own junk)_: for truly, I love none.'_

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Doug hopping around in the stage right wings, but short of ringing down the curtain, I don't think there's anything that could stop this train wreck, and we're having too much fun to cool it now.

While they're going at each other, I decide I'm going to play with James a little, too. I take my index finger and start tracing a line along his collarbone. My hand is clamped like a vise on his hip and I have the advantage of a good five or six inches in height, so he's going nowhere despite his attempts to struggle free.

Benedick and Beatrice finish their exchange, and I finally let James go as everyone but Edward and I leave the stage. Edward raises his eyebrows at me and continues to twist all the dialogue to extract every ounce of unintentional humor from the situation, telling Claudio that Hero is '_too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little _(with a pinched of his index finger and his thumb) _for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her: that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do not like her.'_

Mike wanders back onstage and has to hear me going on and on about how awesome Hero is, while he and Edward decide to make overt gagging noises and extremely rude gestures through my speeches. Nice. We finish up and exit to face the wrath of Doug and the four scary drag queens.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing out there?" Bearded Beatrice is pissed, but still has the presence of mind to whisper.

Edward straightens his back and lifts his chin. "We're making the best of a bad situation. If you'd thought to shave and show a little respect for the material, I might have been able to deliver the lines as intended. Welcome to showbiz."

There's something about him, and I don't know what the hell it is, but there's something about him that's hypnotic when he pulls that regal stuff out of his colon. Even if you know you're right, he makes you question yourself. It's pretty goddamned handy.

That's all the discussion Edward feels like having on the subject, so he just walks away while everyone else is in hysterics. We've got five minutes, so we head back down the corridor to check on the real girls. Pete's friend from Forensics stops us in our tracks.

"We ran the IDs on those clowns," he grins. "Not much on three of them, but that big one's been arrested a few times. Belongs to some radical activist group called S.C.A.M.P. - apparently, they have a bone to pick about casting women in plays by Shakespeare."

"Well isn't that interesting, given the circumstances in which we find ourselves at the moment?" Edward smiles. "Is it enough to take them all?"

"None of the prints I lifted from the humidifier are showing up in the AFIS database, but I think that, given the situation here, we've got enough to hold them for questioning."

"Great. Let's just see if the girls are ready to take the stage."

We don't have to look far to find them, because they're all headed in our direction. Alice is walking right next to Bella out in front, and I can see that she's all bouncy and bright-eyed and...perfect. Just perfect, my little one. She's the only one the magic lips are gonna be touching tonight, or any night hereafter.

Edward grabs Bella by the waist and hugs her tightly. "All better now?" he asks her with a grin, because it's obvious that she is.

"Definitely. Has anyone tried to arrest you yet?"

"Not me," he laughs. "But the cuffs are coming out for James and his friends." He gives her the Cliff Notes version of what happened during the first act, then we hustle them all to the stage left wing so that they can make the stage for the second act. Doug sees us approaching and falls to his knees, thanking God for delivering him from the evil of the first act.

"Get your asses out there," he hisses. "We're two pages into Act II. I'm going to find a nice, quiet spot and have a coronary."

The back-up that the forensics guy called bring up the rear of our little party and we point out the suspects for them. Everyone's onstage for the party at the moment, so they'll have to wait until we can hustle those guys off stage before they arrest them.

"Just herd them our way, and we'll do the rest," one of the cops says.

Alice wraps her tiny hand around mine and pulls me down so that she can whisper in my ear. "You didn't fall in love with my replacement, did you?"

I kiss her before I answer her. "Honey, you're irreplaceable," I smile.

Ben is saying

_'The revelers are entering, brother; make good room.'_

It's as good a place to jump in as any, so we put our party masks on and all stroll out there together. I just hope they make it easy and come quietly, because I'd hate to see what Edward has up his sleeve if they make it...

_Bella_

...difficult to believe that we're only into Act II, because it feels as though we've been away from the action for hours. My head's totally clear now, and I can't wait to get out and be Beatrice. I've been looking forward to this _forever_. I'm also dead curious to know what the heck Edward's really been up to while I've been out of commission, because I suspect I've only been given a sanitized version of events.

Don Pedro is addressing Hero as we walk in.

_'Lady, will you walk about with your friend?'_

James starts to answer him, but Alice's voice carries high above his, rendering the lower register of his voice null and void.

_'So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially, when I walk away.'_

I can see James and the big guy who is playing me look up in surprise as we enter. The other two, who are playing Ursula and Margaret, are upstage right and out of the immediate action, but they immediately cross over to each other and stand together. Alice skips lightly over to where Mike is standing, and shimmies her way in-between him and James, skillfully tossing her trim hip out to bump James back a little. Mike grins down at her, relieved to be talking to an actual female.

_'With me in your company?'_ he continues.

_'I may say so, when I please,'_ the answer comes back in stereo, as both Alice and James are reciting the lines. Alice turns her head to glare at James and nods to indicate that his services as dubious body double are no longer required, but he plants himself on the stage and refuses to leave, so Alice decides to ignore him and just pretend she's in a cavern of some kind where there's a spectacular amount of reverb.

She and Mike start their prearranged amble around the stage so that Don Pedro can figure out whether Hero's as hot for Claudio as he is for her. James dogs stubbornly behind them like a waitress in shadow training.

Balthazar and Margaret are flirting as they cross from upstage right to downstage left, and Angela bravely gets herself between them so that she can pick up the action and take it away from the long-haired head-tossing friend of James. He's not taking the hint, either, and the three of them are standing in a line, a prime example of that particular number being a definite and unwelcome crowd.

Next it's Antonio and Ursulas chance to cross to downstage right, and Jessica's far pushier than the rest of us put together. She deftly hip-checks James' friend in a move it's easy to see she's practiced weekly at area clubs and bars, sending him reeling off to the left, where he falls onto his flank with a resounding thud. He's ticked off big time, but scrambles back to his feet and pushes his way into the action again, meeting her line for line. This is getting ridiculous.

Benedick and Beatrice are up next, and Edward nods at me as we advance on my stand-in. Edward grabs me by the waist and swings me into a dance, but the big guy is right behind me, making some kind of bizarre Beatrice club sandwich, and the three of us are dancing an awkward waltz together.

_'Will you not tell me who told you so?'_ my double and I say to Benedick. Edward only looks at me in response.

_'No, you shall pardon me.'_

We speak again,

_'Nor will you not tell me who you are?'_

And Benedick answers,

_'Not now.'_

The big guy is bumping into me and squishing me closer to Edward. Not that I mind this in the slightest because 'closer to Edward' is never a bad thing in my book, but I'm pretty sure we look ridiculous. Edward stops moving and looks down at me with a sigh. "Stay here," he whispers, and lets go of me.

I step aside in confusion to see what the heck he plans on doing to scrape this guy off of our tail. Edward unsheathes his stage rapier from its scabbard and holds it up against the big guy's stomach.

_'Despair thy charm; And let the angel whom thou still hast served  
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd.'_

Edward is quoting from _Macbeth_ now, presumably because _Much Ado_ isn't violent enough for his mood. The big guy is momentarily nonplussed, but recovers nicely and smirks back.

_'Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man!  
And be these juggling fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense;  
That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.'_

"Besides," he extemporizes, "That's a stage weapon. It's not like you can actually stab me, you know."

Edward grins back at him. "Oh, I know. But trust me, it'll hurt like hell when I use it as a whip." And he flexes the tip between his fingers, bowing out the blade in a fairly menacing fashion. "Care to test me?"

The big guy doesn't move fast enough to suit Edward, so he releases the tip of the rapier and lunges forward, whacking the dolt on his bicep. He winces and grabs his arm, and Edward takes the opportunity to grab the tip of the rapier and flex it out again. "More?" Edward asks. The big guy lurches forward to grab Edward by the shoulders, but Edward's far too quick for him, stepping neatly to one side and releasing the rapier so that it cracks across the big guy's lower back as he passes.

Edward grabs the tip of the rapier once again and flexes it. "Had enough yet? Because I can keep this going all night if you like, but I'm pretty sure this audience came to see a different comedy."

Jasper, Mike, and Ben take advantage of the distraction and grab hold of James and his other two friends, shuffling and kneeing them off the stage and into the hands of the cops who are waiting for them in the wings. It's just Edward and the big guy now.

"Demetri, give it up already!" yells James from the wings, assigning a name to the big guy.

Demetri reels back around to face Edward again, and quitting doesn't seem to be his intention. "I've got pretty thick skin, asshole," he spits at Edward. "Let's see how brave you are when I put you in a headlock."

"You'll have to catch me first, you big oaf," Edward laughs.

I can't believe him. Everyone around us is frozen, staring at these two idiots. As much as I hate to interrupt this odd display of machismo, we're straying further and further away from the point of the play, and I really, _really _don't want my father to meet Edward for the first time as he's being booked on assault charges. If nobody else is going to step in, I guess I'm going to have to make an effort.

I don't think about how big this Demetri is. I don't think about how many people are watching me. I don't think about anything other than the fact that sooner or later, Edward's going to make a mistake and this guy is going to pound on him like a piece of veal. Not for nothing am I Charlies daughter, and I spent more than a few unwilling hours learning the basic art of self-defense under his tutelage. It's time for me to put those lessons into action and see if I can stop this before it gets too out of hand.

Seizing the moment, I slide between Demetri and Edward and initiate a sequence that Charlie's burned into my brain from the time I was old enough to step off the school bus by myself:

_1. Step with left foot;_

_2. Bring right heel down with all possible force onto toes of opponent's right foot;_

_3. Jerk right knee up into opponent's groin;_

_4. Pull right hand back and smash into opponent's throat._

Demetri goes down like a felled oak, gasping and wheezing. I look down at my handiwork, shocked that it actually succeeded, and all hell breaks loose around me. Edward's grabbing me and pulling me back by my waist; a cop runs out from the wings and straddles Demetri as he's sprawled on the floor, handcuffing him before I can blink; the cast is running around the stage babbling and screaming; and Doug looks as though he's passed out, slumped against the sound engineer in the wings. Through all of this noise, I hear a familiar voice and turn to the audience, squinting against the glare of the spotlights.

"That's my baby girl!" My father is shouting and clapping, clearly pleased and moved that I was actually paying attention to him. On the opposite side of the theatre, I see someone else standing and clapping. I squint harder to see if I can figure out who it might be, and suddenly realize that it's Norma Desmond from the pool party. "Brava! Brava!" she's shrieking.

This is _so_ not how I pictured this evening going.

Edward spins me around to face him. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "You?"

"I'm fine. A little annoyed with you, but fine. I had him, you know," he pouts.

"I know you did," I soothe. "I was just showing off for my dad."

He slides his mask back down onto his face and spins me back into a waltz. "Ah, where were we? _'Not now'."_

_'That I was disdainful! - And that I had my good wit out of the _Hundred Merry Tales!_ - Well, this was Signior Benedick who said so.'_

Everyone notices that Edward and I are continuing on with the play, so the audience settles back down and the rest of the cast filters back to their places. The sound engineer cranks up the background music, and we make our return to a warm evening in Sicily.

_'What's he?' _asks Benedick.

_'I am sure you know him well enough,' _Beatrice encourages this stranger in a mask.

_'Not I, believe me.'_

_'Did he never make you laugh?'_

In the space of those few brief moments, Edward and I are back in the action. I've lived for this night, for this chance to be on the stage opposite this inhumanly gorgeous man, saying these words to each other, because they are beautiful words and they are the music to which we first fell in love with each other. We had a rocky start tonight, but we made it through, and we didn't even lose any of the really good bits. We have so much to look forward to, and I don't want to miss a single minute of it.

# # #

A/N - And there's your hot-potato chapter. More play, more parents, more poodles, and a turban to come.

Please review if you have a moment, and share your thoughts with me!


	23. Oh, had I but followed the arts!

**A/N** - Hi there! Had you given me up for dead? I'm so sorry it's taken two weeks to push this chapter out to you. I had pesky work and family obligations, and quite literally wrote this one sentence at a time. I wanted at least one chapter to focus entirely on the play itself, because hey, that's why they're all together, en fin. Furthermore, everyone in the known universe updated fics this Monday, so you were probably very busy fielding alerts without adding this into the mix.

For those of you who didn't review to get the meaning behind the acronym S.C.A.M.P., it stands for "Shakespeare's Characters Are Male Property". Now you know!

I'm honored and touched beyond words by your feedback and support - every review is precious to me, every recommendation, every alert and favoriting makes me so glad I took the leap and started posting this. If you haven't already done so, and if you like what you see here, please do take a moment to add me to your author alert or favorite author list. I swore that I was only going to do one of these as a warm-up exercise, but I have two other ideas I'm tossing around and I'm almost positive one of them will prove too compelling for me to resist. I am also finishing up the outline for my original work, and if you like this Edward and Bella, I'm pretty confident you'll adore Simon and Lily, who make these two look taciturn and dull in comparison.

Twilight? It's not mine. I intend no harm or infringement of any kind. I come in peace, dammit.

# # #

Oh, had I but followed the arts!

BPOV

Benedick is in Leonato's garden, listening to Don Pedro and Claudio telling the world how Beatrice pines for him and loves him to distraction. I'm in the wings, watching Edward's face as he hides behind a trellis. He's perfectly in character as far as the audience is concerned, but I can see that he's looking directly at me the whole time, his eyes twinkling in that disturbing way that makes me want to strip naked and velcro myself to him in what I'm fairly certain would be a display unsuitable for all but the most adventurous theatregoer. And definitely unsuitable for my father, no matter how pleased he is with me at the moment.

_It's not a trick, Benedick. This Beatrice loves you beyond all reason. But for the sake of the play, pretend you're just finding that out._

God, just look at him. Look at him. He's all military jacket and black breeches and broad shoulders and sword and crazy hair and lovely fingers and man and just - just perfect. Every facet, every pore, every particle of matter involved in the process of Edward's creation was ordained by something so purely Divine that his existence in this world, on this stage, and in my life is proof enough for me that there's a greater force at work in the universe than the cynics would have you believe, because there is no way that Chance alone could be responsible for the collection of magnificence I call my Everything. This loves me. I get to wake up next to this every morning. I'm officially out of wishes.

"Close your mouth, Bel," whispers Alice, snickering. "Your costume's been through enough tonight without adding drool to the mix."

"You really want to go there with me, Al? Do you think I didn't see you molest poor Jasper's ass in Scene i?"

She grins impishly at me. "It's the breeches. They're, uh, problematic."

I nod in understanding, because yes, they are. I find myself hoping that they'll make a fashion come-back this year.

_'Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain _

_awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be peopled._

_When I said I would die a bachelor I did not think I should live till I were married._

_Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady; I do spy some marks of love in her.'_

Ah, my cue. I'm coming, you beautiful wiseass. Get ready for Hurricane Beatrice.

_'Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner,'_ Beatrice snarls at him, while I try hard to forget that we ran these lines during one of our earliest phone calls with each other, right after I told him I had to kiss him. _No! Keep your head in the play, Bella. _

Edward arches an eyebrow at me and smirks knowingly. _'Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.'_

_'I took no more pain for those thanks than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful, I would not have come.'_

I hope he can feel the waves of confused annoyance Beatrice is sending his way. I know that she's totally flummoxed at this point in the play, and thinks he's either a complete idiot or he's making fun of her for some obscure reason.

_'You take pleasure then, in the message?' _Again with the smirk. She wants to slap it off of his face.

_'Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior; fare you well.'_

Beatrice flounces off the stage, fuming and conflicted. Oh, Beatrice, I wish you'd entered just a beat or two earlier, so that you might have heard him tell the trees that he loves you! Now you have to suffer the same ignominy at the hands of your friends while they spin their web of lies to make you confess how you feel.

We pass each other in the wings as the scene ends, having no more than a moment or two to join hands and smile at one another before we tag each other out like wrestlers and I'm due onstage to have my friends trick me into believing that Benedick is mad about me. As it turns out, that moment or two is more than enough to remind us that, while there might in fact be other people in the cast, we are all alone together when we're playing these roles. It's just him, and me, and we're in the middle of the most sarcastic and witty mating dance ever devised by a playwright.

"Top that, lollipop," Edward challenges.

"Watch and learn, creampuff," I respond with a glint in my eye.

Edward bares his teeth at me, taking my recently vacated spot in the wings to watch me as I spy on Hero, Margaret and Ursula, and listen to them rave on about how Benedick is doing his best to wrestle down his overwhelming love for me because he believes I'll never return the affection. As he focused on me when it was his turn, so I focus on him, and speak to him.

_'And Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, taming my wild heart to thy loving hand._

_If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves up in a holy band,_

_For others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it better than reportingly!'_

The lines have a double meaning for us again, because here's the marriage issue. Beatrice is telling Benedick that she's open to the idea of that 'happily ever after'. I'm open to it as well. Who am I kidding, really? I'm more than open to it. I can't imagine the rest of my life without Edward, and plan on shackling him to my side by any means at my disposal. Beatrice is as big a pushover as I am - we just don't like to be too obvious about the thing. I'll make him work a little for it, because I know two things now that I didn't truly believe before I met him: I really am worth the effort, and as unlikely as it may seem, the world holds an amazing and thoroughly bizarre man who will absolutely make that effort for me.

Though I love words and phrases, there are some I never fully understood until I met Edward. Words and phrases like soulmate, or other half, or better half - these all make sense to me now. He's grinning at me as I speak these final lines, and the look in his eye tells me that he's also harking back to our chat about happily ever afters.

I'm no actress. I am doing what I'm doing tonight because of Edward. For Edward. With Edward. He makes me better - he makes me shine, makes the words that I'm saying seem real to me. The brilliance of Shakespeare is that he somehow managed to harness so many universal emotional truths and spin them back out using language which is so precise and nuanced that mere mortals can only dream of expressing themselves so fully and succinctly. Shakespeare lends me all the words I need for the moment. I'm a Method actress, as it turns out. Edward is my Method.

I finish my scene and rejoin Edward in the wings so that we can watch Dogberry and Verges clown around. I'm trying desperately to pay attention to what's going on out there, but Edward has other plans, as he winds his arm around my waist and leans down to run his nose along my jaw.

"I'm not going to make it," he whispers in my ear, sending a seismic shiver down my spine. His breath is hot and sweet and makes every nerve in my body stand at attention and await his further instructions.

"Wh-what do you mean?" _Oh, God, please let him be talking about dinner, or a deadline, or a dentist appointment, or anything else a person can make except the thing I'm pretty sure he's talking about. I will never be able to say 'no' to him now, and our understudies will have to finish the play, because he's wearing that jacket and those stupid breeches. I'm also fairly certain my mom and his mom will put two and two together and come up with hanky-panky. _

"Bella," he breathes, barely audible but still plenty loud enough to cause my brain to dissolve into mush. And of course he sees no need to stop there. "So beautiful," he sighs softly. "I want to put my hands all over you. I want to kiss and lick and touch and have every inch of your beautiful body. I want to steal all of your words and leave you only moans and my name to work with. I want to _plunder_ you."

"Uh," is all I can say in response. I'm down to a single syllable, and a completely meaningless one at that. His nose is now rubbing the flesh directly behind my earlobe, while his mouth is sending what appear to be jets of some colorless but deadly vapor directly into my ear canal to paralyze what's left of my nervous system. I have no idea where I am, or who I am, or what I'm supposed to be doing now. He's murmuring something in Latin, having a conversation with the pulse under my jaw while the rest of me goes up in flames. How am I still vertical? Mysterious gravity. Muscle memory is the only thing keeping me upright at this point.

And then, through the haze of lust and want and overwhelming Gah he's constructed around and within me, his voice suddenly shifts from purring seducer to politely disinterested bystander, as he says

"Uhm, Bella? That's your cue."

Jesus rat bastard lowlife conniving gorgeous man. My head, which had been listing dangerously to one side in an effort to give him as much of my neck to play with as he could possibly need, rights itself squarely back onto my shoulders. I turn my eyes up to look at him, and he's grinning like an unrepentant felon.

"Cheater," I hiss.

"Just testing your focus," he snickers. "Now get out there and argue with Jessica."

I stumble onto the stage, and it's a good thing that this scene calls for Beatrice to be distracted and slightly melancholy, because I'm pretty sure I look both right now, with a touch of ticked off thrown in for good measure as I snap at Margaret. The bad news is that I have no shield against his love rays; the good news is that he has no shield against mine, either, so to take revenge on him, I spend this scene repeatedly stroking that spot on my neck approximately one inch to the left of the hollow in my throat, where my collarbone begins. He's such a frequent and enthusiastic visitor to this location that we really should have his mail forwarded there, and I'm going to Carol Merrill that piece of real estate until we reach an agreement. _Let's make a deal, Edward: I'll play fair if you will. _

The look on his face as he watches me from the wings lets me know that I've made my point.

I rejoin him as the scene ends and arch an eyebrow in his direction. "_'tis sport to have the engineer hoist by his own petard_, you crooked and evil excuse for a co-star."

He laughs, but there's a faint edge of instability behind it. "_Hell is empty and all the devils are here_."

My eyebrow and the eye beneath it travel south to the general area of his breeches, and I place the palm of my hand squarely over his heart. "Yes, well, _if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? _You'd best think of a way to make that too, too solid flesh melt, because this is Shakespeare, not _Hair_," I whisper in his ear with a smile.

"You win," he croaks, and I think he's both sorry about that and a little happy as well. I remind myself that after we're done with this play and the parents and the party, there is a very strong likelihood that we'll both win if we're still conscious and have sufficient energy.

We need to get serious now, because Act IV is the heavy stuff. Alice and Jasper are in a corner, shamelessly groping each other before they're forced to get onstage and fall apart. I hate to do it, but I tiptoe across to them and shake Alice's shoulder to let her know she needs to settle down or Claudio's accusations about Borachio having slept with her are going to look pretty credible given her disheveled appearance.

"Your bouquet," I hiss at her, tossing her the bunch of silk flowers from the prop table. "Get your head pure, virgin bride."

The stagehands have moved the set pieces to create the church in which Hero and Claudio are to be married. Banner is almost beyond all hope at this point, frazzled and freaked out, but he does a quick head count to make sure we're all present and then Embry shoves Mike in the back to indicate that we need to haul ass out there before the curtain goes up.

James' understudy is managing pretty well with Don John. Steve is almost as tall as Edward, and a good fifty pounds heavier than James, so he comes off as far more menacing. As the curtain rises, he plasters a look of such hate and venom on his face that I'm momentarily stunned by it and a bit taken aback until I remember that he's a senior at the university and has a strange obsession with Gwen Stefani's Harujuku Girls. It's ironic that he looks so threatening but is a complete sweetheart, while James looks so bland and managed to drug and derail us.

Here we go - Claudio is accusing Hero of being a spoiled and wanton woman, right here in front of her father and her family and all of her friends, on what she thought would be the happiest day of her life. He's tearing into her, angry and heartless, and she's so confused and frightened and completely clueless as to why he's saying what he's saying. Alice is breaking my heart - she totally commits to the moment, tears pouring down her cheeks as she stares at Jasper with wide, hurt eyes, trying to understand how and why this dream has turned into a nightmare. Jasper - laid-back, cool, happy Jasper - is vicious, slicing her up with every word he utters while she cowers back against me and shatters into a thousand irreparable pieces. Ben turns on her as Jasper and Mike stride away, and he's looking at her as though this child he's loved and cherished is a stranger and a plague, something to feel only disgust and shame over.

_'Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?'_ Leonato wails as Hero faints into my arms. _'Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes; For I did think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, Strike at thy life. Grieved I I had but one?'_

We've rehearsed this scene scores of times over the past six weeks. It's always been fraught with tension and emotion and the delicate choreography of a brief but precipitous descent from comedy to tragedy. And while it's always been a powerful scene, I realize as I'm listening to Leonato disown Hero and wish her dead that I have _never _been so shocked and moved by it before. I'm frantic to defend my friend, my sister, against all comers. I want to kill Jasper for making her cry. I want to take her away from here and hide her somewhere safe while I loose the hounds of hell on anyone who doubts that she is exactly as pure and perfect as she claims to be. I understand now why Alice wanted to whisk me out of New York. I understand, and I love her even more than I did a minute ago.

I'm crying now too, and when I look up, I see Benedick, who is the only one of Don Pedro's men to stay behind and try to uncover the mystery behind this radical change in today's agenda. Benedick, who is so contrary and difficult to figure out, remains to see whether he can sort the truth from the fiction. He stays and tries to understand and help, not caring a bit whether or not his friends will disown him as well. Benedick has never deserved Beatrice more than he does in this moment.

I listen to Leonato and the Friar argue over whether or not it is possible that there is some misunderstanding at work here. Every unhappy coincidence seems to point to Hero's disgrace, and still, in the midst of it all, Benedick believes me when I tell him that they are wrong and she is innocent. He takes my word on faith alone, with no proof other than the fact that I've said it's so.

It's decided that we will fake Hero's death to see whether news of it inspires remorse in Claudio, and Benedick, who acknowledges that his allegiance has always been with Don Pedro and Claudio, swears to keep the secret from them and help however he can.

Everyone exits, leaving Benedick and Beatrice alone on the stage. I'm distraught, on my knees in grief and anger.

_'Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?' _

_'Yes, and I will weep a while longer.'_

_'I will not desire that,' _ Benedick says, as he places gentle hands on my shoulders.

I'm looking into his eyes as he speaks, and while my mouth forms words about Hero and vengeance, my mind is suddenly all about Edward, and how sad and unsure I was before he entered my life. I no longer cry; I can't imagine producing anything but tears of laughter, and happiness, because that's what he's brought with him to our little party of two.

_'I do love nothing in the world so much as you,' _he murmurs. _'Is that not strange?'_

_'As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.'_ I don't want to be vulnerable to this pain, because once I say the words, I will never, ever be able to deny them...or you.

_'By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.'_

_'Do not swear by it and eat it,'_ Beatrice warns. Today has been a day of broken promises.

Benedick laughs, because once he's convinced of a thing, it's virtually impossible to turn him from it. _'I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.'_

Truly, Benedick? Do you truly love me?

_'Will you not eat your word?'_ Beatrice asks.

_'With no sauce that can be devised to it; I protest I love thee,' _ Benedick smiles.

_'Why then, God forgive me,'_ she cries.

_'What offense, sweet Beatrice?'_

_'You have stayed me in a happy hour; I was about to protest I loved you.'_

_'And do it with all thy heart?'_

_'I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,'_ Beatrice admits, because what use is there to fear pain and disappointment when this truth is finally reached?

He will not kill his friend for me, and this is the proof of his love I demand, the only thing which will convince me that these are not just words he's saying. There is nothing else I will believe, and seeing that, Benedick agrees to challenge his brother-at-arms, because he would sooner see himself hanged for the murder than have me doubt him. He's all in. For me, because I asked him to be.

The curtain comes down in front of us. I know we have to move so that the stagehands can set up for Dogberry and Verges, but I'm frozen, just staring into Edward's eyes. I asked him to prove himself to me, and he did it, he did anything and everything he could to give me that security, and he did it without once questioning why he should have to. Jesus, the balls on me. What did I do to deserve him?

"Come on," he whispers, and takes me by the elbow to lead me off the stage.

We stand deep in the wings, out of the way of everyone who is scurrying around to get the next scene up.

"Edward, I don't deserve you," I mumble against his shoulder.

"Sorry, miss - no refunds or exchanges," he grins cheerfully. "I'd give you store credit, but I'm officially going out of business."

"God, I love you." It's the only answer I have for him, and the only reason I can offer as well.

"I'm going to go ahead and suggest that be your opening remark when you drag me over to meet your father," Edward laughs. "No harm in letting him know up front that I'm not an unwelcome part of your life."

"I keep telling you - it's my mother who's going to freak you out. She's so much scarier than a sidearm."

"Hey, if all she wants to do is encourage me to have more and stranger sex with you, I'm going to do my best to honor the request and not antagonize her. I'm not saying I'll enjoy it, but I'll make the effort if it makes her happy." His long-suffering face brings me right out of my solemn mood and makes me want to pinch him, so I do.

The stagehands are changing over to the last act now. "Ow. Quit bugging me - I have to go threaten Jasper," Edward admonishes with a smile, rubbing his arm. "Save that sadistic pinching stuff for later, and be sure to let your mom know I was open to the deviant behavior. I love you too, even though you probably left a bruise."

There he goes, off to let his best friend know that his loyalties lie elsewhere now. I find Alice behind the second set of wing curtains stage right, where she's surreptitiously applying a bit of lip gloss and fluffing out her perfect hair before she's forced to place the veil over it again.

"Hey," she smiles. "This is amazing, isn't it? I'm having the best time!"

"Me too," I reply, grinning. "You totally blew me away in the last act, Al. You broke my heart and made me want to kill Jasper."

Alice laughs. "Touch one hair on his pretty head and it'll be more than your heart that's broken. God, I hate fighting with him, even when it's not him and we're just pretending. The only good thing about it is that he's always really, REALLY, you know, _apologetic_, when we do that scene, which is fantastic because it wasn't even our argument to begin with. It's like a free pass to the good stuff."

"Who knew community theatre would be a shortcut to your happy place?"

"I'm telling you this much right now," she says. "I don't care if Banner's doing _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ next, and I have to dress like an Oompa Loompa. I'm totally on board as long as Jasper's willing to join me."

"You're about the right height for an Oompa Loompa," I snort, and she wrinkles her nose at me. "Want to go take a peek at the house? We have a few minutes - let's see if we can spot your parents."

We sneak up next to the sound engineer's table and carefully poke our heads around the corner of the proscenium arch. Edward's just left the stage after challenging Jasper, and now Dogberry and Verges are about to spill the beans on Borachio and Conrade. The lighting rig above the stage is at full bore, with several dozen PAR cans shining bright white and soft yellow and orange beams on the action below them, creating more than ample illumination for us to scope out the seats in the orchestra and figure out where everyone is located.

Alice tugs my sleeve when she spots Carlisle and Esme, their faces focused with rapt attention on the scene in front of them. Emmett and Rose are sitting to their left; Rose looks extraordinarily angry, and Alice almost giggles when she realizes that Rose is ready to kill Borachio and Don John. "I love her," Alice whispers. "Let's get her drunk again tonight so she can tell those guys off without feeling any guilt."

"No way," I breathe back at her. "I'm not spending tomorrow at the hospital visiting Pete and Steve."

As I'm saying those words, I suddenly realize that tomorrow is actually my birthday. I haven't mentioned it to anyone because I truly don't enjoy the traditional fuss surrounding the event, and would much rather just wake up with the unarticulated and uncelebrated knowledge that I'm another year older. I already have everything I could possibly want. I have Edward. Next to him, a cake with some candles on it seems kind of anti-climactic at best. Alice and my parents are unlikely to let me skate through the day without some kind of hullabaloo - I'm just hoping they'll keep it to a dull roar and won't force me to sit in a restaurant while a handful of bored waitstaff sing off-key and shove a sparkler-topped brownie under my nose.

I see my parents in the third row. Charlie's settled back down after his uncharacteristic solo ovation, and while it's clear that he's not particularly enraptured by the play, he's paying attention and no doubt deploring the depiction of bumbling law enforcement contained within. Renee is clasping her hands tightly to her chest and it looks as though she's praying I come back out onstage in the near future. I wonder what she's made of Edward, and then I realize that he could be covered in warts and sporting a hunchback, and she'd still be thrilled that I was getting some. As it happens, he's unnaturally unblemished and his posture is lovely, so right away I'm a big winner in her eyes.

Right behind my parents sit Dame Liz and Edward Sr., and one would be hard-pressed to find two more urbane and appropriate patrons of the arts. I can see that Liz is wearing what appears to be a deep green silk blouse and the most spectacularly large choker of pearls I've ever seen outside of a museum. She looks absolutely amazing, even from this distance. My mother, as far as I can tell, is wearing some kind of Native American rug as a jacket, and she's got long feathered earrings dangling from underneath her short-and-sporty haircut like some kind of dreamcatcher jewelry. Topping off her ensemble is a pair of the ugliest orange, horn-rimmed, rhinestone-bedecked glasses ever inflicted upon the nearsighted, and I'm willing to bet that she's got her ankle-length hemp skirt on as a coup de grâce. I can see that I'm going to have to work the "kooky, carefree" angle on her rather diligently this evening.

Alice and I scoot back to the wings to watch Benedick try to compose a love song for me before I interrupt him in the effort. I adore this part of the play because Edward is hilarious. Benedick sends Margaret to fetch me while he struggles to put into romantic words all that he feels, going hard against his acerbic nature. He's not that hearts-and-flowers guy. I stand and wait for my cue:

_'Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme. I have tried; I can find no rhyme for _lady_ but _baby - _an innocent rhyme;_

_For _scorn_, _horn - _a hard rhyme; for _school, fool _- a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings. No, I was not born _

_under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.'_

My cue. _Let's rumble._

I walk out to meet him, my defenses weak but at the ready all the same.

_'Sweet Beatrice,' _Benedick greets me. _'Wouldst thou come when I called thee?'_

I am no man's dog, my love. I do not heel.

_'Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.'_ Behold my set-up for you. Step right in.

_'O stay but til then!'_

Thank you for playing. Here's a little reminder that words are my business:

_' "Then" is spoken; fare you well now. And yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what_

_hath passed between you and Claudio.' _Did you do as I asked? Do I have my proof of how you feel about me?

_'Only foul words, and thereupon will I kiss thee.'_

Not so fast. Beatrice needs Benedick to clarify, and he confirms that he's challenged Claudio. He did that. For her. For me. For us, because it's what we needed him to do.

Now Beatrice can tell him that she loves him, even if we have to do that with snark fully engaged, making fun of each other but with tenderness. She's more brittle than I am, I discover. I gave my trust to Edward before I had the proof in my hands.

_'Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably,'_ Benedick says, because really, where's the fun in that?

_'Serve God, love me, and mend,'_ he requests of Beatrice.

_Oh, Edward. I'm mended. All better now, Doctor. You were the cure. _I know he sees this in my eyes, because Edward's smiling at me through Benedick's face.

Angela interrupts our cozy little tryst as Ursula brings the news that Don John is the villain and the plot has been exposed. We all leave the stage together to get ready for the final scene.

"How are you holding up?" Edward asks me, giving my shoulders a squeeze. "We're almost done."

"I'm having a blast, but I admit that I'm ready to take off this corset and rejoin the twenty-first century."

"Bella, when this play is done, I'm absolutely buying these costumes," he says. "I'm going to start mapping out dark hallways all over town for us to abuse, and this way you'll have an option if the blue dress is at the cleaners."

"Yes, because this getup isn't too conspicuous," I laugh. "Note that I'm going to burn all of your other pants and leave you with nothing but breeches. It's a very, very good look for you."

"Right. Breeches and glasses." He rolls his eyes. "You're seriously the kinkiest girl on the planet. Go put a veil on your head so Claudio can play Three Card Monty with you maidens and we can call it a night."

And finally, Claudio and Hero are reunited, Don John has fled, Beatrice and Benedick have their respective love letters to one another revealed, and all ends on the happiest possible note.

_'Peace - I will stop your mouth,'_ Benedick tells Beatrice, and this time, when he kisses me, those lips belong to Edward. I'm frankly amazed that we can keep it brief.

_'Prince, thou art sad - get thee a wife, get thee a wife,' _he advises Don Pedro, as he holds me in his arms. _'There is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.'_

Everyone laughs and the party music begins as the curtain falls on the action for the last time this long, strange evening. I take a brief moment to look around me as we're all lining up for our curtain call. The applause is so loud that I can't hear what anyone is saying, but God, it doesn't matter, because the look on our faces says it all for us anyway.

We all join hands as the curtain rises to reveal us once more. Edward holds my right hand, and Jasper holds my left, with Alice on his other side. Alice is actually crying a little, but those are tears of joy. I can barely breathe as I look out over the house, where all of our friends and families are standing on their feet, clapping and cheering and whistling - Rose is whistling the loudest, apparently, with two fingers in her mouth, and I make a mental note to ask her how she does that because I've always wanted to hail a cab with that kind of whistle.

Despite our decision to remain in line with the rest of the cast, the castmates on either side of our quartet let go of our hands and shove the four of us out in front. We stumble a little but recover, and after taking the briefest of bows, we all look at each other and quickly step back in line. One more bow from all of us, and the curtain is down for good.

We're all laughing and hugging and Banner's in the middle of our huddle, looking completely addled and drained and ready to consume vast quantities of Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's finest alcohol.

"I will never be able to thank you people enough for keeping it going tonight," he blubbers. "I'm going to kiss each and every one of you on the mouth before the night is over. My lips and I will be waiting to ambush you at the party, so get going."

Edward wraps his arms around my waist and swings me in a circle. "Hey! Group grope with Doug. Tell me your mom's not going to love that. Let's go get changed and face the enemy, shall we? How much worse could it be than being drugged with ether?"

I swear, if I wasn't absolutely certain they'd hunt us down like mad dogs, I would drag him out of here as though the demons of hell were at the door. I groan in response.

"You don't want to know, Edward. Ether's probably going to look like a two week vacation in Maui compared to the next few hours."

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**A/N - **I know you're panting for Edward to meet Renee and Charlie, and I swear to you it's coming in the very next chapter. We're back at the Cullen manse for another party, and you know how those go.

Speaking of chapters, there are probably no more than two left for me to write. I swear to you that I'll do everything in my power to make them worth your while. In the meantime, please drop me a review if you have a moment, and thank you so much for reading along!


	24. I told you sir, they were red hot

A/N - Yeah, I know - I'm late with this again. But to atone for my sin, I've made this is a jumbo-sized chapter. I'll save more of my rambling for the end and let you get right to it. Note that there's some sex in here. You must be THIS TALL to read the chapter. If you're not, it's past your bedtime - scoot off, please.

Twilight is not mine. It belongs to Stephanie Meyer. I don't know what I'm doing here, but whatever it is, no copyright infringement is intended and believe me when I tell you that no money's being made.

# # #

I told you sir, they were red-hot with drinking

EPOV

I feel as though someone's just plugged me into a wall socket and flipped a switch. The combination of emotions I've been through tonight should really have left me exhausted and ready for the sleep of ages, but instead, I'm on fire, twitching like a dope fiend. The excitement of getting to perform, the nausea of discovering Bella all-but-unconscious from I-didn't-know-what, the murderous rage at whoever was responsible for endangering her, the unspeakable relief once she really woke up and I saw that she was going to be fine, the scramble to track down the culprit, the confrontation onstage, pulling the play back from the brink of disaster and finishing up with Bella in my arms and all's well that ends well - for a man who lives a pretty quiet and uneventful existence, it's as though I've just been launched into orbit strapped to the back of a mentally unstable space chimp.

So, to sum up, I feel crazy. It's probably a good thing that Bella and I won't be alone for the next little while, because I'm pretty sure I'd be leaving marks all over her. I can't even tell her how badly I just want to tear into her at the moment out of fear of prompting her to seek a restraining order against me. I mean, we're no strangers to enthusiastic intercourse, but the way I feel right now, we'd be cranking up the freakmeter to a hitherto-unimagined level, because I'm a goddamned manimal. I just want to fuck the living daylights out of her, and there are no more appropriate words to use for this totally base impulse. How sensible would that be with both her parents and my parents lurking around in the shadows at every turn? But still...yeah. I can't find it in me to care too much about that.

Speaking of parents, I really want to get this show on the road. Generally, I'm very good with parents. I haven't actually met the parents of any girl who has ever passed through my life, but I know from having met parents of friends and roommates over the years that their response is as a rule a positive one. I look pretty good on paper: doctor, Ivy educated, reasonably fit and attractive, can form a complete sentence and knows which fork to use at dinner. I find that's usually enough to win me the nod of approval from almost any quarter. But Bella's parents? God, that's pressure. I'm going to have to tap dance like Gene Kelly to keep her father's mind off the fact that his baby girl and I have seen each other naked, because even if Renee hasn't mentioned our little heart-to-crotch, the man is a trained officer of the law and I'm going to go ahead and presume that he knows a thing or two about forcing a confession.

I have no idea whatsoever about how Renee is going to react to me. She seems pleased about the whole nudity thing. As hard as I try, I can come up with no previous experience of mine to indicate how I should behave in the face of that sort of approval. I'm going to have to wing it and pray that they see I make Bella happy. Or at least that I do my very best to make Bella happy. Shit, I'm nervous.

"You okay, man?" Jasper nudges me as I jump up and down in place and shake my arms out as though I'm warming up for a run. I look like an idiot.

"I'm honestly not sure," is all I can say. "What if her parents hate me?"

Jasper shakes his head. "I don't see how they can. She glows like she's swallowed a vat of fluorescents every time she's near you. You have a day job. No visible tattoos or piercings, and although you haven't shared, I'm pretty sure you don't have a criminal record. Plus, you're loaded and you've got the Baronet ace-in-the-hole. If you don't lead with that, you're an idiot. Where are your folks?"

"Carlisle said he'd guide them over to the house. I wanted to tackle this one hurdle at a time, and until I meet her parents, I'm not sure what kind of combustion we need to prepare ourselves for."

The girls come spilling out of a makeshift dressing room at the far end of the hallway - they've kicked Banner out of the production office and commandeered the place, as their room is still taped off for investigation. Alice skitters down the hallway, all tiny and overexcited like a sloe-eyed chihuahua, and tosses herself into Jasper's waiting arms. I'm catching that with my peripheral vision, though, because Bella's out the door next, and as is her idiom, she takes my breath away. God, how many hours until I can reasonably peel her away from this party and just have her, have her all to myself, have her the way I need her? This is sick. I need to focus on the parents and be an upright citizen of the first magnitude. She's not making it easy on me, though, in that black sleeveless dress which would never in a million years capture my imagination were it on any woman other than this woman. It shows me none of her interesting bits, but hints at them all, offering me tantalizing clues that make me want to go on an archeological expedition to find the lost paradise of Bella.

"Hey," she says, and I come out of my lust fog to realize that she's standing right in front of me with her lips pursed, trying desperately not to break into laughter. "I just need to reiterate that the next few minutes are going to suck, and not in any good way. Are you ready?"

I nod and weave her arm through mine. "Let's do this. On a bright note, we'll shortly be at Esme and Carlisle's, where we'll hardly be the most interesting thing for our parents to gawk at. Once they get a load of some of her friends, we can comfortably fade into the background."

"I admire your optimism, even if I know my mother too well to share it."

Arm in arm, we march out the side-stage door to enter the house, which is virtually empty. I realize now that Bella's never even shown me a picture of what her parents look like, so it comes as a bit of a shock that the two people standing in front of me are the genetic ingredients needed to make one beautiful angel. Her father is first off the blocks, lowering his brow at me and twitching what I can only call the most animated mustache I've ever seen in my direction.

"Dad, I'd like you to meet Edward," Bella says. We eye each other like matador and bull for a moment before convention takes hold of us and I thrust my hand forward in what I hope is an enthusiastic and non-threatening fashion. "It's a pleasure, sir," I say. He actually "harumphs" at me and grumbles something _sotto voce, _but shakes my hand all the same, putting a little vinegar in the action. Round One, no blood. I'm ahead of the game.

I have no time to analyze that whole encounter because suddenly, I find myself face-to-face with Mama Swan. I swear to Christ, the first thing I think of is Eileen Brennan in _White Palace_, and I want to shift my eyes around to see if she's parked her chocked-full-of-crap station wagon somewhere nearby. Bella mentioned that Renee was kind of a hippie, but I certainly wasn't expecting Glinda, Gypsy Queen of the Southwest. It's incongruous to say the least. I fight a momentary but incredibly powerful urge to turn into James Spader and instead stay squarely within myself, within what I've learned about me since I've been with Bella. For better or for worse, I am Edward Masen, and that's who I'm going to be for the mother of the woman I love.

My hand reaches out again to shake hers, but she totally ignores it, so I drop it out of confusion and embarrassment. Previous successful parental interactions be damned: this is Renee Swan, and there are new rules at play. Her eyes travel the length and breadth of me - it doesn't feel as though she's assessing me on any physical level, though. She's not checking me out, and for that I whisper a little prayer of thanks. After a moment, her hands join the party and she raises them to float them over my face and torso, never touching, but just kind of...hovering. I don't seem to need to interact with her on any socially-acceptable level at this moment, so I turn my eyes to Bella with a mute and terrified question. Is she a faith healer? What is she looking for, and how can I help her find it so that this bizarre examination ends?

Bella looks positively mortified. "I'm not sure, but I think she may be reading your aura," she whispers.

"Woman, you _swore_ to me," Bella's father mutters, and when I find his eyes with mine, I actually see a hint of sympathy there, so whatever the heck she's up to can't be all bad in my book.

"Hush," Renee whispers with a frown, but she lowers her hands and then just beams at me. "You're pink," she declares, crushing me into a brutal embrace. "How fantastic!"

"Thank you?'' I'm not sure how else to respond to this announcement. I'm also not happy at all that I'm being associated with a color more suitable for My Little Pony than a sober (and demonstrably quite virile) man of science, but if it gets me on her good side, then absolutely, I'm pink and fluffy with ribbons in my tail and anything else she says. I just want her to like me, even if her liking me means I'm totally weirded out and feeling a little, uhm, psychically molested.

"Mom, can we _please-" _

Renee doesn't even bother responding, choosing instead to release me and grab Bella by the shoulders to wrap her in a fierce hug. "Sweetheart, it's even better than I thought it would be. He's _pink_. You lucky, lucky girl. Of course, now that I really look at you, you're pink too, so it all makes sense."

It makes sense? In what dimension does this make sense? Not this one, that's for sure.

Renee closes her eyes and murmurs

_'As I walk, as I walk _

_The universe is walking with me _

_In beauty it walks before me _

_In beauty it walks behind me _

_In beauty it walks below me _

_In beauty it walks above me _

_Beauty is on every side _

_As I walk, I walk with Beauty.'_

What?

She must see that I'm mystified, so she kindly clarifies. "It's a traditional Navajo prayer. I'm so glad to meet you, Edward." Now she offers her hand, and I'm completely relieved because I know what to do with this kind of greeting. Her hand is soft and gentle and her smile is sincere. She may be a kook, but I'm not going to hold that against her. I also suspect that she's going to make me laugh a lot, whether she means to or not.

"Can we go now? Please?" Bella's shifting her weight from one foot to the other, looking as though she might either wet her pants or start dancing a rhumba. I disengage from Renee and wrap my arm around Bella's waist in what I hope is a comforting fashion, because we've all apparently survived this initial encounter and that's got to be cause for celebration. I try very hard not to think about how having the heat of her body so close to mine is making me want to run my hands under her dress. I wonder what effect this impulse has on my aura, and hope that I'm not telegraphing it too loudly to her mother. Or worse still, her father.

"God, you're so tense, dear," Renee says, rolling her eyes as Charlie heads toward the exit with a definite purpose, assuming we'll all follow him because he's not going to brook a debate on the subject. "Anyone would think you weren't having regular and satisfying orgasms. You are, aren't you? Don't tell me this man isn't giving you great orgasms, because I've seen your aura, and the aura doesn't lie."

_Oh, sweet Jesus._ Now I absolutely can't wait until this woman meets my mother. I hope with everything in me that Esme's hired a videographer to capture the party tonight, because if she has, I plan on tipping him extra to keep that table covered. I'm also pretty excited that Bella's aura is advertising my sexual proficiency to anyone who cares to read the signals, because a satisfied woman is much more difficult to hit on than one who looks unconvinced about the state of things. My aura and I are conspiring to keep any contenders out of the ring.

After some of the blood leaves Bella's cheeks and returns to her legs, we trace Charlie's steps out the door and split up in the parking lot, where I ask Charlie to follow our car over to the Cullen house because it's just easier than giving him directions. He nods his assent and we get into our respective vehicles to head over to the party.

Bella slams her head against the passenger seat headrest and whimpers. "I'm so sorry," she moans.

"For what? That was awesome! Bella, I honestly couldn't care less that your mom's a little, uhm, unusual. She loves you, and she seems to like me all right, and that's really all that matters to me. Plus, if your father's armed, at least I didn't do anything in the first five minutes to make him want to announce that fact. I think the whole thing went pretty well, actually." I take one hand off the steering wheel to place it on her knee, but my aura dictates that the knee isn't enough, so I end up sliding the hand quite a bit higher on her thigh, which makes her squirm. I love the squirm. I freaking live for that squirm. _God. In her. Now. Please._

"But you're _pink_, Edward," Bella finally smiles, even if it's a little rueful. She shifts in her seat and gives me the "stop making promises with your fingers that the rest of you can't honor until later" look. Parents. Right. Crap. Focus.

"Yes, I admit that wasn't the best part. On the other hand, my love skills are so great that your aura is like a walking billboard for my machismo, so I'm hoping that kind of balances whatever effeminate hue I'm throwing out to the cosmos."

"I'm not going to lie to you - my aura and I agree on that point."

"You know, I don't need most of my body to drive this thing," I say, hoping she'll at least consider the proposition and work with me. I'm getting pretty desperate. "Later," she whispers. I will probably mention it again in about five minutes, on the off-chance that "later" is sooner than I think it is.

"Do you think there's more talk about the state of our union coming from your mother this evening?"

"Oh, bet on it," Bella nods sadly. "We still have to tell them about the plan to live together. How's your mother going to take all of this?"

I laugh. "I can't wait to find out. With a little bit of luck, the four of them will keep each other completely distracted and we'll be able to sneak out a side door."

"Dream big," she snorts.

We arrive at the Cullen house and I hand my keys over to the valet guy, who must be putting himself through college based solely on the work he gets at this place. The joint is jumping, with people wandering all over the lawn and loud music pumping through the open windows. Every light in the house appears to be on, and there's a steady hum of conversation floating through the mid-September air.

Bella seems to want to sprint to the door as quickly as possible, but I hold her back because it would be rude not to wait for her parents. Charlie and Renee make their way over to us, and the four of us march up the steps and across the porch to see what fresh hell we can find inside.

The first person we encounter is Carlisle, who apparently stations himself near the front door in an effort to welcome and sort new arrivals to the strange land that is a Cullen gathering. He's like Ellis Island in a grey cashmere polo sweater and blue serge pants.

"Ah, Edward, Bella, welcome," he smiles. "Edward, I believe your parents are out on the back patio at the moment, waiting for you."

"Thank you, Chief," I say. "I'd like to introduce you to Bella's parents. Carlisle Cullen, Renee and Charlie Swan." They shake hands with the perfectly respectable doctor-host. Carlisle asks how Bella is feeling, and I realize that neither Renee nor Charlie is likely aware of the drama behind the comedy this evening. Is it a good time for her father to know about the ether attack? Probably not until we're sitting down somewhere. I steer them quickly away from Carlisle and we make a path from the front door through the kitchen and out onto back patio.

It's a full-on 'do back here, with people drinking and smoking and laughing in clusters and pairs all over the place. I spy my mother, who is standing with Esme, the omnipresent Poodle Guy, and roughly a half-dozen other guests. Poodle Guy, whose name I really should know but don't, is passing the poodle like a furry little hash pipe from person to person around the circle that's gathered while he tells a story about something which requires the use of both his hands to illustrate. I see him deposit the shivering little dog into my mother's arms and brace myself for her scream, but it never comes, as she diplomatically and very rapidly passes the pooch over to the woman on her left, like the Dutchie in that crazy song everyone thinks is about drugs but which is really all about cookware.

We might as well get this over with.

"I ask you, was it not maladroit of him?" Poodle Guy is finishing up his story, and laughter punctuates this closing remark. He must be some kind of raconteur to get a laugh out of "maladroit". My mother spots us standing on the periphery, and she excuses herself from the circle to join us.

"The play was wonderful," she says by way of greeting us, holding out her hands to take one each of ours. "Hello again Bella. You made a spectacular Beatrice." She kisses both Bella and myself on the cheek, then looks over my shoulder at Renee and Charlie.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Bella's parents - Elizabeth Masen, Renee and Charlie Swan." Holy fuck, I sound like such a stiff. Is there any easy way to do this? If there is, nobody's told me about it, so I'm just going to err on the side of caution for the moment. I'm extremely nervous, and it's tradition in my family to poker up when we're tense.

My mother is wearing her most gracious smile - it's warm and sweet and open, and I love seeing it on her face because it's the smile she reserves for family and really close friends. That smile is not easily won.

"It's Liz, please. I'm so happy to meet you both," she says, and I know she means it. Since she's the one who taught me how to handle an introduction, she does exactly what I did when I first met them, extending her hand and preparing for skin-on-skin contact. Renee's not having any of it, of course, because she immediately pulls my mother into the kind of hug my mother has likely never before experienced. It's a baby marmoset hug, and I can see my mother's eyes briefly roll to the back of her head from shock before she gets a grip on herself and tries to hang with the Gypsy Queen's customs. I adore my mother - she's smart, and strong, and really funny, and she loves me very much. But her people are not a random hugging people, and this kind of display is probably freaking her out. It's fantastic, and I can't help but stifle a little laugh even though I'm disappointed that Renee didn't open with an aura reading. Maybe she'll get my father.

Speaking of dad, he's watching this hug with the same sort of fascinated horror that I am, but he quickly composes himself and considers his options. Charlie is standing directly behind Renee with a scowl on his face, but the scowl is infinitely less intimidating than the hug, so my father makes a move on Charlie and they shake hands. "Hi - Charlie," Charlie says. "Edward. Nice to meet you," my father answers. Any fewer words, and they will have to resort to miming. Charlie's gruffness and my father's shyness are not an auspicious combo.

We need alcohol, stat. I look over at Bella, and she's thinking the same thing. If we don't lubricate this quartet, we'll be dealing with fallout all night long. And I can't have that, because my goal is to get this stuff over with as quickly as possible so that I can take this woman somewhere private, there to do unspeakable things with her and to her and for her. Oh my God, is the meter ever running. I need to stop thinking about it because springing a boner in the middle of this situation wouldn't help matters one little bit.

"Let's find a table," Bella suggests. "Mom?" I think she's hoping that calling her mom will somehow disengage her from what is rapidly becoming a _Guinness Book of World Records_-length assault on my mother, and it works, because Renee lets her go and, beaming, turns to her daughter. "I'm just so happy, baby," she says. How can you argue with that? How can any of us begin to argue with that? Happy is worth a few marmoset hugs - my mother will just have to learn how to deal.

We suss out a table and get them awkwardly situated, then I take drink orders. Renee orders an anachronistic Tom Collins. "Far out," I say, because I can't help myself. I feel Bella's elbow in my ribs so I settle down and trot over to the bartender, promising to tip him more than his salary tonight if he makes those drinks as strong as possible, then offer the same promise to one of the waiters if he makes it his mission in life to keep the four of them plied with as many drinks as he can conceivably stack on the table in front of them.

I bring the first round of drinks back to the table and in order to encourage them to drink up and get drunk, I propose a toast. I know I should probably make a toast about introducing us all to each other or something vague and celebratory, but all I really want to focus on is Bella, so I just make a toast to her, to my beautiful girl. As it turns out, this is a stellar move, because she shows me that fantastic blush and I know that everything I feel about her is written plainly on my face for the observation of both sets of parents. Do I have to tell them that I love her? Take a look at me. She's everything in the world to me, and no way am I a good enough actor to be able to manufacture this kind of happy just for their consumption. I am a card-carrying fool for her.

We make awkward polite conversation for a few moments. Charlie peppers me with a bunch of questions about what I do, how long I've been in town, who my friends are, where I live, whether I've ever been involved in any drunk driving accidents, and so forth. I'm pretty sure he'd fingerprint me if he could do so in a subtle manner under the table. I'm also pretty sure these kinds of questions are unusual for a first real meeting with a girl's parents, but I get that he's a police officer, and aside from what happened with the women in Chicago, I am really one of the most boring people he's ever likely to encounter. Renee keeps trying to shut him up, but he's not having it. I can tell that Bella's getting pretty angry, but I think that refusing to answer these questions will be held against me in the court of Charlie, so I keep answering.

My mother takes control. "We're absolutely thrilled that Edward's found such a wonderful girl to love," she says. "I've only known Bella for a day or two, but it's perfectly plain to me that she makes our son happier than he's ever been. I hope to get to know her, and by extension you both, better in the days to come, and couldn't be more excited at the prospect." My father nods his enthusiastic support for everything she's saying.

"It just seems kind of...quick to be getting so serious, doesn't it?" mutters Charlie. "No offense to you, Edward. I know she's been hurt before, and I just don't want my little girl rushing into anything."

"Oh, honey, you really need to lighten up," Renee laughs, rubbing his shoulder. "Remember I'd only known you three days before we-"

"Eeew, mom, no," Bella blurts preemptively, assuming that Renee's about to overshare. It's probably a safe assumption. "Dad, I'm not a little girl anymore. I can tell you this much: if someone's going to break my heart, I'd much rather it was Edward than anyone else I've ever met."

I will never, ever break her heart. "I will never, ever break your heart," I whisper in her ear. Then I turn my head to face her father.

"Mr. Swan - Charlie - look, I know it might seem as though we're moving quickly, but I need you to know that I love Bella. I mean, I really love her, and it's amazing, and I never thought I'd feel this way about anyone, but she's here and I do, and I don't want to waste a single minute of time I could be spending with her. I've made some mistakes when it comes to women, but your daughter is the best thing that's _ever_ happened to me." I think I sprained my tongue - that kind of just poured out without a lot of thought behind it. It was all true, though. Absolute truth - my new specialty.

I look around the table, and my mother and Renee are making these crazy goo-goo eyes at Bella and me. When I look down at Bella, I notice she's got the goo-goo thing too. Did I push that out there too quickly?

"We're moving in together," Bella blurts. Apparently, I did not push that out there too quickly for Bella.

It is at this moment that my father chooses to make himself heard. "Son, I know you're a grown man, and I have absolutely no right to expect you to weigh any input I might offer on the subject, but this woman here shouldn't be a fly-by-night option for you. If you love her as much as you say you do, why can't you just propose and do the honorable thing? If I were lucky enough to have a daughter like Bella, I know that's what I'd want for her." He's said this to me in a relatively quiet voice, hoping not to draw attention to the conversation, but of course everyone's heard him anyway.

Now I'm getting a little angry. I finally decide to be a real boy and do the right thing, and my own father doesn't believe I'm capable of it. It's clear, however, that Charlie and my father are now going to be friends despite the lack-of-language barrier, because Charlie is nodding along and looking at my dad as though he's the ultimate voice of reason.

"Dr. Masen - Edward - shoot, we're going to have to find me something else to call you," Bella laughs. "Edward Sr., I want you to know that Edward - my Edward - isn't the one who wants to wait a little while before we make that leap. I am."

"Good girl," Charlie mutters. "Take all the time you can. Give me a chance to do a really deep background check on him."

Bella looks ticked off, and she puts her chin a little higher in the air. "You know what, Dad? That won't be necessary, because Edward quite literally wrote me a book about himself. I can tell you anything you want to know about him. And if I don't know it, I'll ask Edward to tell me the answer, and I'll trust whatever he says because I love him and that's what you do when you love someone. You just trust them."

Seriously, I need to be inside her _this minute._ I'm pretty sure that would be pushing things too quickly for the rest of the table, though. We need to wrap up this conversation with all due haste so that I can drag her away from here before my head explodes and I come in my pants like a fourteen year-old.

Renee does the marmoset thing with Bella. "Oh, baby, I'm thrilled for you, honestly. You two are just adorable."

My mother grabs my hand between both of hers. "I'm in absolute agreement with Renee. Now why don't the pair of you scarper and leave us to get to know each other a little better?" Under her breath, she whispers "Put it in our hands. I have a suspicion that Renee and I are going to make a fairly indomitable team." Then she gives my hand a pat and releases me. I feel a bit like Papillon, and the look I give Bella tells her that we need to run before the guards change their minds. She looks nothing like Dustin Hoffman, though. Thank God.

"Come on, love," I say as I tug Bella gently by her arm to raise her out of her seat. "Let's, uhm, mingle a bit."

Yes indeed. Let's mingle. I need to mingle her. I'm trying to be calm and nonchalant as I tow her along beside me, but as soon as we're out of earshot of the Four Horseparents of the Apocalypse, I have to hold her against a hallway wall. "Bella, I love you. Extremely. You know that, right?" Bella nods her head, smiling and looking a little confused, which just about pushes me over the edge and into the scary "I don't give a good goddamn who's watching us" territory. "I have never needed to fuck you more than I do at this moment. Look at my hands." I show her my hands, which are seriously shaking. I look like I have palsy. "Help me," I whisper. I'm at her mercy.

As though my situation wasn't already completely desperate, she bites her lip. And then she just looks at me and says, "God, yes."

Her vocabulary is extensive, but that little affirmative is bar none the best one in the entire collection. Every blood cell in my body hops on a southbound train to my groin, but there's some residual activity in my synapses which prompts me to scout out a suitable (and please God, nearby) location for a tryst in the Cullen house. I'm well aware of the fact that it's probably poor form to be fucking my girlfriend in my boss's house while our parents are off in a corner breaking some ice, but I have to forget about Emily Posting the next few minutes because honestly, I've reached what could fairly be called critical mass in my balls, and there's a part of me that's trying hard not to think about how embarrassing it would be to have a MedEvac helicopter come to airlift me out of here should I keel over from the acute tension.

Bathrooms are an excellent option, right? We make a dash for the closest one, only to find that it's occupied with a line of three people waiting to use it. The other two bathrooms on this floor are similarly high-traffic areas.

And oh, Jesus, the obstacle course we need to run while we're on this desperate mission! Everywhere we look, people are trying to stop us and congratulate us and make pleasant conversation - it's a nightmare. I see Jasper and Alice lounging on a couch in the sunroom - the look on Jasper's face clearly indicates that he's already taken care of business somewhere en route to this party, and I'm so jealous of the smug bastard that I want to throttle him. Not for schtupping Alice. Ick. I'm just jealous of the schtupping.

"Outside somewhere," Bella says through gritted teeth.

"It's too cold for you." I have a shred of concern for making her so uncomfortable. It goes against the grain with me, no matter how hard up I am at the moment. And I'm very, very hard up.

"Don't care - let's go," she answers. I love her so much it's frightening. We need to make sure nobody spots our escape because it would hardly be a mystery as to why we'd feel the need to take a stroll in the bushes.

Now Bella's pulling me along, taking charge of the situation. _Please, Edward, don't think about her in charge. Stop it. Another time._

We slink off to a little copse at the far end of the back lawn. It's totally quiet back here, and dark, the only illumination available being the harvest moon in waxing gibbous above us. I'm panting like a dog that's been freed from a kennel after weeks of enforced restraint. Stopping in front of a sizeable red alder, Bella grabs me by the shoulders and plants her mouth on mine. I'm instantly as hard as I can ever remember being in my life, so hard that I'm not even sure I'll be able to get my pants down. I groan into her mouth, pushing her against the tree and hoping like hell it'll be strong enough to handle what I'm about to do to her. I bunch her pretty dress up over her hips and reach for her heat with my shaking fingers while she yanks down her panties, then grabs roughly at the waistband of my jeans, fighting with the button fly and impatiently yanking my shirt out of her way. I have to brush her hands away and do it myself because she keeps getting distracted and rubbing her hands up against my hard on, and that is not helping matters one bit.

I'm finally free, the cool night air doing absolutely nothing whatsoever to calm the angry hot iron in my hand. "Turn," I demand, because this isn't going to be sweet and if I see her face there's a pretty good chance that once around won't be enough to last me until the end of this endless evening.

Bella turns her back to me and braces herself against the tree with her forearms, bending herself _just right_ and slightly spreading her legs. I do not deserve her, I don't deserve this woman who loves me and trusts me and gives me every fucking thing in the universe that I could ever possibly want without my even being able to form the thought to ask for it, but I take her anyway, holding her by one hip while I slide myself into her and groan loudly because if I live to be a thousand years old, nothing will ever, ever be better than being inside her where everything is perfect. Where I am perfect, and known, and home at last.

"Edward," she moans breathlessly, and then says the one thing that is guaranteed to finally push me over the edge into madness. "Hard and fast. Please."

Whatever control I might have had over myself completely abandons me in this moment, and I pound myself into her, pouring out all the anxiety and fear and joy and need I've built up inside tonight with every rough thrust as the two of us lose our minds and our ability to speak, calling and answering each other in grunts and moans. I know I'm bruising her with the hold I have on her hips, but I can't stop, and I can hear my voice trying and failing to form the foulest words I know. The only word that is even remotely clear through all of this is "don't". In my head, I'm saying "Don't ever scare me the way you did when I found you on the floor tonight. Don't ever leave me. Don't ever stop loving me. Don't ever let anything, _anything_ come between us. Don't ever let me be less than you need. Don't ever be less than yourself." _Don't. Just don't._

She's taking all of this, taking it and accepting it and demanding it, and the fact that she does so makes me briefly panic. Holy shit, how is it possible that I have this? Nobody deserves to be this lucky. I'm so lost that half of me honestly believes this must be some kind of dream, and I have to reach one hand around her to feel where we are joined in order to give myself some kind of reassurance that this is real, that I am the guy who gets this.

"Please," Bella moans again. I know from feeling how tightly she's holding me within her that she's close, that she needs me to touch her, and my hand moves up slightly to snap the frayed cable holding her suspended in midair between anticipation and release. I wish we could stay here like this forever. The only reason I'm willing to let go is because I know that we can return, that the door to this place will be open to us for the rest of our lives. I will never need more than this. More than this would be greed on a biblical scale.

We both fall together, every ounce of me emptying into her in what feels like a neverending flood, and I'm holding her up by her belly and her hip because her legs are shaking. Some randomly-assembled vowels and consonants leave my lips and it's a cry, one accompanied by actual tears of relief. I rest my forehead between Bella's shoulder blades and kiss her spine, unspeakably grateful for her.

"I love you," I say, when the words return to me. It's not enough. What could ever be enough?

"Holy cow. I'm so glad we didn't wait another minute for that," she laughs. "I love you too. So much." Leaving her warm acceptance is painful, and unbelievably I'm already semi-hard again, but I know now that I can now survive whatever the hell we need to live through for the next hour or two before she's all mine again. I turn her around and she's in my arms before either of us have a chance to deal with our clothes, and I'm smothering her face with kisses because she's infinitely precious to me and I need her to know that.

When I finally let her talk again, she tilts her head downward to assess the damage done. "Tell me honestly, Edward: do I look like I just got fucked in the woods by the man of my dreams?"

This makes me laugh hysterically. "Well, let me see now," I say, as I find her panties, which have been kicked a good ten feet from where we're standing. I reach over to grab them and hand them to her. "Your dress is a bit wrinkled, and your hair is a little wild in the back here. Your lips are suspiciously bee-stung, but that could just be from Banner mauling you in gratitude. All things considered, I'd say if this is all the damage that the man of your dreams is capable of, he seriously needs to step up the quality of your dreams."

"Ah," she smiles, helping me pull up my pants. "But you don't see the damage he does on the inside. Inside, I'm completely demolished. He just keeps things neat on the surface to avoid suspicion about what a maniac he really is."

"He sounds pretty shifty."

"You have _no_ idea."

I notice her watch as I grab her hand to lead her back to the house, and it's five minutes past midnight. "Bella?"

"Mmmhmmm?"

"Happy Birthday," I whisper, and gently kiss her tender lips again.

Her eyes flash up to mine. "You stinker! Who told you?"

"You didn't honestly believe you could hide that kind of information from me indefinitely, did you? Alice told me weeks ago after I asked you and you distracted me with promises of chicken kiev for dinner."

"Well, I sincerely hope you're counting what just happened as my birthday present, because I'll be pretty put out if you took the matter any further and actually bought me a gift."

"I'm devastated to have to inform you that you should be prepared to be very put out then, because I've bought you more than one gift. Okay, well, I bought you one and I made you one, so that's two gifts by my supernaturally accurate accounting skills."

Bella exhales in annoyance. "I'll deal with you later. Let's go see if our parents have murdered each other yet. I'm not sure whether to root for or against that possibility at this point."

We skirt the edge of the patio and make our way to the large glass French doors into the house when we find our path blocked.

"Darlings!" It's the Turban Lady from the Labor Day party, and there is no escape for us. She throws her arms around each of us in turn. Unfortunately, she's got a drink in the hand that's currently draped over my shoulder, and I end up taking an unscheduled shower in gin and tonic as a result.

"You were absolutely divine. Truly thrilling. A feast for the senses. I laughed, I cried, I felt it all," she's blabbering, sounding like a collection of Rex Reed reviews plastered on an ad for a movie. "A non-stop joy ride from start to finish!" She's got to be kidding. She's completely bonkers.

"Thank you so much," Bella responds, and tries unsuccessfully to wriggle away from the Arm of Entrapment.

"Please, darlings, it's _my_ job to thank _you_. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed an evening at the theatre so thoroughly. I tell you this: you most certainly give The Factory a run for their money. I simply must know - what visionary stumbled upon the idea to have duplicate Beatrices? It was such a revelation to watch the three of you dance onstage. A real statement about the war raging within the breast of the hopelessly conflicted heroine. And then to have the other doubles wrestled to the ground and dragged away while you fought Beatrice's alter-ego with your bare hands! Genius! It was pure, unadulterated genius!"

"Oh," Bella says. "Well, none of that was actually...planned."

Turban Lady slews her face around to look at Bella, and I get another dousing of Bombay Sapphire. "What was that?"

"Uhm, those men onstage were trying to take over the female roles in the play. They're activists, apparently."

Turban Lady is shaking, but whether it's from fear or delight, I'm not really sure. "They were what, darling? Do you mean to tell me that those men...they _stormed _the stage to usurp your place there without your previous knowledge? Incredible! What was the reason? Do you know their reason?"

She's shrieking this at the top of her not inconsiderable lung capacity, and Banner wanders over to clarify. "Can you believe it? It's outrageous, and almost gave me a massive coronary. Our Don John was a member of a group called S.C.A.M.P., and apparently, they're some kind of Shakespearean purist outfit. They don't want women taking the female roles in his plays because he only had men performing when the works were originally presented. They argue that the roles were written for men, and only men should be performing them. Thank God for my cast - they were absolutely brilliant." I see him give me the eye, and since I'm trapped underneath an arm and a stiff drink, I have nowhere to hide. "Speaking of which...pucker up, Edward. I don't think I've gotten you yet." And he laughs as he plants a kiss squarely on my tightly-closed lips. Bella smirks but it's rapidly wiped from her face as Banner treats her to a bit of the same action a second later.

Turban Lady is still staggering under the weight of this revelation about James and his cohorts. "What happened to them? Where are they now?"

"They're cooling their heels in a lock up while the FBI sorts it out," Banner answers. "Which reminds me, you two are going to need to give statements at some point tomorrow. Pete said he could hold them off tonight because we'd all been through enough for the moment and the cops agreed to let us celebrate in peace."

"They're in prison?" I'm wondering why Turban Lady is so slow on the uptake with this one.

"Well, they've been arrested, but they won't see a prison until after they've been found guilty," Banner responds.

"That's completely unacceptable," Turban Lady answers. "George! George, where the devil are you? Come to me this instant!" Her stooping, bald husband snaps to her side like a well-trained labrador. "Do you have your phone, darling? I need to call Mr. Oregano immediately."

George looks a little unsure. "Do you mean Mr, Jenks, the attorney, sweetheart?" Now how the hell did he get from Oregano to Jenks? I don't know George, but I already have an enormous amount of respect for his deductive skills, which are fearsome.

Turban Lady rolls her eyes under her six-inch lashes. "Of _course_ I mean Mr. Jenks. Who else could I be talking about, you silly man? The phone, George - give me the phone at once!" She starts punching numbers into the opened cell phone, bouncing Bella's head around as her arm flexes furiously behind my beautiful girl's neck.

"Hey there," I say. "It might be easier to make the call if you take your arm away from Bella." I don't want to get rough with her, but I will. My shirt can be dry cleaned, but Bella's head is not as easily mended.

Turban Lady laughs the kind of throaty laugh that should really be reserved for drag queens impersonating Marlene Dietrich. "Darling, I'm so sorry - of course, of course." And with that, Bella is free. She loyally scoots over to my side and gently pries me out from under the arm which still holds me to the side of this nutcase.

"Why are you calling a lawyer?" Banner asks.

Turban Lady rolls her eyes once more, and the action makes me a little seasick to watch, so I have to look away. "Those poor boys are dedicated to a higher calling, and should _not_ be imprisoned for their beliefs. If I have to, I will single-handedly fund their defense. And _you_, Mr. Director, should feel the same way. How often do we complain that nobody really cares about the theatre anymore? These boys care enough to endanger themselves to preserve it, and they're thrown in jail for their efforts. It's an offense against the art form - every feeling revolts."

If I squint, I can actually see the blood vessels in Banner's eyes expand. "Let's go," I murmur to Bella, because we definitely don't want to get trapped in this kind of esoteric showdown. We sneak away as the two of them start to go at each other in a furious debate on the subject, but I notice that George has helpfully retrieved another gin and tonic for his wife to slop on the now-empty space around her.

"Should we check on the parents?" Bella wonders.

"Yes, I guess we better had," I answer, and she giggles. "What?"

"I love it when you channel your mother. It's so goofy."

"Bella, I'm already far too interesting for my own good. Please don't make me think about stuff like that, because I'll never sleep again and you'll have to visit me in my therapist's office if you ever want to see me."

"No, come on, that kind of thing is bound to come in handy when you're Sir Edward. I think that's why she put the verbal whammy on you in the first place - it's part of your inheritance."

We wander toward the table at which we parked our quartet, but it's empty. "Oh, no," Bella sighs. "I can't think that's a good sign." A quick visual scan of the patio confirms that they are nowhere to be seen, which leaves us with two options: either they've gone inside, or they've left. I'm not entirely sure which one of these options is the one I'm favoring.

The kitchen is full of catering staff preparing the dessert display, so we search on and eventually discover Charlie and my father in the living room. They are locked in what looks like a pretty fierce debate, and my heart sinks, because my father is never one to push his opinions forward so forcefully in social settings like this.

"Hi dad," I begin, hoping to distract him from whatever's got him so riled up. The two of them look up at us briefly to acknowledge that we're there. "Son. Your mother and Renee were in the library the last time I saw them." And that's all either one of them has to say to us before they return to their discussion.

"I'm telling you, the NES was a remarkable piece of technology for the day," my father argues.

"Come on, Ed - the '85 bundle only included Super Mario Brothers. You had to pay for the upgrade if you wanted the Zapper and Duck Hunt. And no Sonic the Hedgehog? Waste of good money! The Sega Master System beat the crap out of Nintendo and you know it."

"Oookay," I murmur to Bella. "We're apparently surrounded by esoteric arguments this evening. They don't look unhappy, though, so let's see what the women are doing."

I'd never been to the library in this house before - the library in our house in Lake Forest is where my father likes to hang out, largely because mother purchased two enormous wingchairs to flank the bay window in that room, and my father likes to nap in those chairs. The library in the Cullen house is far smaller than the one in our house, but it's still very spacious, and I like it better for several reasons. The wood paneling is lighter and reminds me of a public library. All four walls are covered in shelves, which makes the room feel like a cozy hideaway. There's a huge Persian rug on the floor - it's a blue Nain, and we have a similar rug that's always been my favorite in our dining room at home. And finally, there's a stunning antique Bosendorfer parlor grand piano in the center of the room. I can feel my hands literally itch to play it, because it's been months since I've had the opportunity to play anything whatsoever.

But first, the mothers. There are several knots of people here in the library, some sitting on the overstuffed couches which are strategically grouped throughout the room while others stand around chatting and leaning against the shelves. Bella and I find our mothers with their heads together on a sofa in the far right corner of the room. I have no idea what they're talking about, but it's immediately apparent that they are thick as thieves.

"Baby!" Renee smiles as she looks up to see us approach. She takes a beat, and then her smile gets even larger. "I bet you needed that, Edward," she laughs, and I suddenly realize that instead of being mortified, I'm kind of entertained by the fact that she's so happy about our scorching sex life. I'm pretty sure that if she knew exactly what happened in the woods a little while ago, she'd be tossing confetti in the air and arranging a parade for us. I'm not telling her, and I'm absolutely confident that Bella's lips are sealed as well.

"Edward," my mother says. Now I'm a little freaked, because while the sex stuff is funny coming from Renee, it would definitely not be a laugh riot coming from my mother. "Renee's been telling me the most fascinating stories about her literacy work on the reservations near Phoenix. Were you aware of the fact that this woman has single-handedly started no fewer than sixteen programs of the sort to serve the elementary school and junior high-school aged children of the Pima and Maricopa tribes? Her passion and generosity are extraordinary."

I realize as she's talking that she's a little flushed, but I'm thinking I might be hallucinating that, because I've never seen my mother drunk or even tipsy in my entire life. The suspicion, however, increases when I hear Renee chuckle.

"Oh, Liz, quit trying to pretend you're not getting a little loose tonight. Edward, we weren't really talking about the literacy programs when you walked over here - I mean, yes, that's something I do, but we talked about that ages ago. I was just telling your mom about the night I got to party with The Dead backstage in Albuquerque, and she was sharing her sadness about the fact that she couldn't sneak out of boarding school to see them at the Lyceum in London in '72. No matter what your mom says, she'd totally eat a bean sandwich and beg for a miracle if Jerry and Pigpen were still around."

"Mom," Bella says, and she sounds shocked and a little threatening. "Did you...dose Edward's mother?"

Renee looks incredibly insulted. "Honey, honestly. What kind of a freak do you think I am? Don't answer that. Of course I didn't dose her. We've polished off almost two bottles of pinot noir in the past hour or two, and I just hold it better than she does."

"Yes, well, you've probably been in training longer," Bella mutters. "Mrs. Masen? Liz? Are you okay?"

My mother smiles beatifically at us both. "I'm spectacular, thank you. I'm not drunk, truly. Merely - what did you call it, Renee dear? - loose. I'm loose then. Still perfectly capable of passing a field sobriety test, should you care to administer one to me."

Bella and I just look at each other and shake our heads. Alcohol and video games are all it's taken to bond our parents to one another. Had I known it was going to be this simple, I certainly wouldn't have given it another thought.

Alice and Jasper saunter into the library, followed by Emmett and Rose. "Hey!" Alice chirps when she sees us. "Where'd you two wander off to? I've been looking for you for AGES. We wanted to get a game or two of pool going with the rest of the cast."

Rose looks at Bella and raises her eyebrow, but says nothing, for which I'm thankful. "Yeah. Hey, you two were really good tonight. Onstage, I mean." Okay, she almost says nothing. I swear that when Maddy meets her, the universe will be in deep, deep trouble.

"Ed man, weren't you bragging about being a great on this thing?" Emmett taps the case of the beautiful Bosendorfer. "Why don't you put your nuts on the block and prove it?"

I feel a little shanghaied, but it's been a crazy, crazy night, and I'm so distracted by everything else that's gone on I don't really mind so much that there are all these strangers in the room who will now expect a concert from me. I'm frankly also dying to play - but more than that, I'm dying to play something for Bella. I want her to hear me, to sit next to me if she's willing to do that, because while being on a piano bench in front of a piano as nice as this one will make me incredibly happy, I'll be even happier if I can share that with her.

Bella nudges me gently. "Go on, then. Dazzle me," she grins, folding her arms across her chest in a challenge. "You know you want to."

I roll my eyes at her and shrug, then sit down and pat the bench next to me. She shakes her head. "I want to watch from here for a minute, if that's okay." Her eyes are sparkling as she stands next to the piano where she can watch my face. I flex my hands and lift them over the keys. I know everyone is expecting something heady, classical and elitist, but I'm in the mood to celebrate, so I barrel straight into "Root Beer Rag" at full pelt. God, it feels fantastic to play. My fingers scramble up and down the keys like monkeys on meth in a faraway jungle, creating layer upon layer of complicated syncopation and dizzying, breathless spikes and shallows of rhythm. The movement is so quick that my hands are quite literally flesh-toned blurs against the ebony and ivory, and I'm so caught up in the exhilarating speed of the piece that I totally forget anyone's even watching me.

Two minutes and forty seconds later, my hands skid back into focus as I end the piece and look up at Bella with a question in my eyes. Did I dazzle her? She bites her lip in a losing battle to suppress a smile and ends up laughing. "That'll do, pig," she concedes, and kisses my forehead. Dazzlement achieved.

"You suck," Emmett grins. "I need some new tricks."

Rose wraps both arms around his waist and hugs him. "Your tricks are just fine, Em. Don't follow Sir Showoff's example on anything, because he's a weeper and you're a keeper."

Bella finally agrees to join me on the bench. "Have a care and don't clock me with your Elbows of Fury," she warns me playfully, but takes her spot anyway.

"I'm going to play this next song because it just reminds me of how you make me feel," I whisper in her ear. She'll get no sappy, saccharine tune from me - instead, I pick out "I Love to See You Smile" by the irascible Randy Newman, because the song is so sweet and funny and simple that it's far easier to believe than any hearts-and-flowers song I could have chosen. Everyone around the piano assumes that this is just another instrumental piece, so we're left in relative peace here on the bench, but I lean into her and softly sing the lyrics as the chatter around us picks up again.

_'I was born to make you happy_

_I think you're just my style_

_Everywhere I go, tellin' everyone I know_

_Baby, I love to see you smile.'_

_'Don't want to take a trip to China_

_Don't want to sail up the Nile_

_Never want to get too far, from where you are,_

_'Cause I love to see you smile.'_

I play through the bridge without watching my hands, choosing instead to take a not-so-subtle peek at her cleavage. "How'm I doing?" I ask her. "Do you think your mother's a fan yet?"

She heaves a sigh and places her hand high on my thigh, causing me to stumble over the next few notes, which makes my mother prick up her ears from across the room and frown at me in confusion.

"I said she was wacky. I never said she was completely devoid of all reason and sense," Bella smiles.

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A/N - Hope you're all having a great summer - another update is in the works even as we speak. Thank you so much for your patience, and for reading and reviewing and recommending this story. I love hearing from you, so please hit the button and say hi!


	25. Why then, can one desire too much

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Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?

EPOV

I'm pulled back to consciousness by the annoying sounds of Bella's cell phone on the nightstand. It rings and rings while she and I try to figure out which arm belongs to who, because we're so knotted up together that we honestly look like a naked Vishnu. Anyone who could see Bella at the moment wouldn't doubt for a second that she's as goddess as goddess gets, wild hair and flushed cheeks and sleep-softened. _Don't answer the phone, Bella. I'm far from done with you. I will never be done with you._

She doesn't listen, possibly because I haven't spoken. "Hi Al," she yawns into the phone and stretches, accidentally rubbing her thigh against mine and reminding me why we're both so insanely sleepy this morning.

I can hear Alice shriek-singing "Happy Birthday" into Bella's ear. Bella is cringing and smiling, and I'm irrationally irritated because I wanted to be the first one to say that to her this morning. Alice has had years of waking Bella up: it's my turn now.

"Al, were you planning to make me deaf as a birthday present?" she complains with a laugh. "It's too early for this - I'm going back to sleep. Why can't you people respect the 10 AM embargo on social interactions? Love you. Later," Bella says by way of a sign-off, and shuts the phone with a snap.

"Eight o'clock," she mutters, snuggling back down into her pillow. I'm absolutely torn now, because while I'm fairly tired myself given everything we experienced yesterday, I am awake and being awake is virtually synonymous with wanting her. It's her birthday, though, and if she wants to sleep she should be permitted to do so without my encouraging her to remain conscious for my own selfish reasons. I wrap my arms around her and cuddle her close to me as a compromise. "Sleep, birthday girl," I murmur into her hair.

Just as we get comfortable, the phone decides to launch a second attack on our bliss. "My mother," Bella grumbles. "I know her ring. It's the ring of discomfiture."

This time, I speak. "Don't answer it." She groans, weighing guilt against the desire for glorious oblivion, and because she is Bella, the guilt naturally wins. "Hi Mom," she sighs into the phone. I hear a twittering in response. Renee is clearly excited and sober, wanting to relive in extremely unnecessary detail the moments leading up to Bella's arrival on earth. "Did she actually just say 'placental abruption' to you?" I whisper in horror. Who in the world needs to know this about their own birth?

Bella covers the mouthpiece and laughs at me. "She said 'parental interruption'. Your medical degree is a liability if you're going to eavesdrop. Although to be fair, it's the kind of thing she would say, isn't it? Yes, Mom, I'm still here," she removes her muting hand to continue offering various noises reassuring Renee that her birthday wishes are being received and appreciated. "No, Edward and I were just - oh, no, we were planning on just - wait, Mom, will you let me finish a sentence, please? We're a little tired and were going to sleep in this morning. Can we meet up for a late lunch instead, say, at one? We've got the play again tonight." I can't help myself - as she's talking, I'm tracing patterns on her back with my finger, which makes her sit up very straight and show me a gentle backhand on the shoulder. I'm wholly unrepentant, though, because if she's awake enough to talk to Renee, then she's awake enough to have me proposition her.

Finishing the call as well as she's able to given the fact that Renee appears to want to chat for hours, Bella hangs up and flops back down onto her pillow, trapping my hand between her and the mattress. "Ugh," she moans, likely not realizing that her moan does very uncool things to my equilibrium. "Why am I surrounded by morning people?"

I wrap my free hand around her waist and pull her toward me. "I'm so sorry. Want me to make myself scarce so you can enjoy your birthday morning without further interruptions?" _Please say no._

She curls up next to me and laughs. "Don't you dare move," she murmurs, nuzzling my neck in a way that I'm sure she means affectionately, but which only serves to remind me further that I have neverending needs where she is concerned. This is so unfair. She wants sleep - she's exhausted and she's been through so much over the past day, but all I want to do is fuse myself to her so completely that we'll need to design a new clothing line to accommodate that proximity if we have to leave the house for any reason.

I stroke her hair away from her face and kiss her forehead. "Happy Birthday," I say into the skin I find there. "Sleep, or presents?"

She groans long and loud, and I pull my hand away to grab the sheet next to me, holding on to it so that I don't give in and render her choice a moot one. "Bella, I adore you, but you need to stop making those noises if you have any intention of going back to sleep. I'm trying to behave, but you are definitely complicating matters." How can she not know that the sounds she makes are like a starting gun for my libido? One little moan, and I'm absolutely off to the races.

"Sleep," she says. Okay then, sleep it is. I wrap my arms around her again and start humming softly, her hair tickling my nose, and in another minute or so I hear her sigh. Is she asleep? She's not moving anymore, so she's probably asleep. I squint at the clock and calculate that I have one hour and forty-seven minutes before the magic 10 AM embargo is lifted and I can lovingly harass her for sex again. Is it still selfish of me if all I want to do is please her? I don't even care about me anymore. I just want to hear her make those noises and know that I had something to do with them.

"Edward," she mumbles. "Edward."

"Mmmhmmm?" I say quietly, in case this is dream Bella having a dream conversation with a dream me.

"I'm so sleepy. You have to do all the work."

I smile into her hairline. "Well, that's no problem at all, because I had every intention of doing all the work in the first place. I'd tell you to go back to sleep, but that just seems very wrong and a little creepy, frankly. Also, I'd like to think that I'm capable of sustaining your interest to the point at which you don't favor unconsciousness over whatever it is I'm doing."

"Less talking. More working."

"Right. Sorry." As my hands and lips journey across the Bellascape, I'm so grateful for the opportunity to love her, to take my time and really show her how much I enjoy every single town and village and hamlet on the map of her. There is seriously not a single stop along the way which doesn't offer me a vista or scenic overlook to appreciate, from the delicate turn of her ankle to the soft ridges of her ribcage. She is small, and smooth, and every deviation from the accepted ideal of beauty is precious to me, from her asymmetrical lips to the fact that her second toe is slightly longer than her first on both feet and her hips a little too broad to conform to a true hourglass figure. I know that time will alter what I find on my travels, depositing wrinkles, and freckles, and stretch marks where now there are none, but she will never be anything less than perfectly beautiful in my eyes. The wrinkles will be the result of the laughter we share, and the freckles will be souvenirs of days spent in the sun on stolen vacations from the rain of the Pacific Northwest, and the stretch marks will be scars of honor from carrying our children, all howevermany of them (at least four, though). How could I ever resent their appearance? How could those things ever make her less perfect to me? They are marks we'll create together. They will be my marks on her. I can't wait to feel her marks on me, so that when we're old and gray and shriveled with experience, we become like a matched pair of shoes, our soles and our souls equally worn in and comfortable. Except for the stretch marks, because I'm not sure how I can duplicate those for myself. Maybe I'll get a tattoo of some as a show of solidarity.

Despite her earlier warning that she is too sleepy to be anything other than a passive passenger on this road trip, Bella begins to move under me, taking her own meander across my back, along my shoulders, through my hair and down to my ass. Where yesterday's frantic, almost brutal interlude under the moonlight was rough and feral and need-based, this is slow and tender and unbearably erotic. It might be Bella's birthday today, but I'm the one who gets the best gift after all, in these moans and whispers and sharp breaths raining in and around me.

When neither of us can wait another moment, I enter her and she breathes my name, telling me how good this is, how good I feel inside her, how much she loves me. I tell her what she does to me, how she makes me so happy I can't think straight, how she's changed every single thing in my life from the moment I met her and how much I love her, too. The slow slide in and out of her, the wet heat within and the damp skin without, the hair and the arms and the legs and the lips of her, they all combine to pull me out of this world and into another, one with a maximum occupancy of two, just Bella and myself.

We make love for almost an hour, neither one of us wanting to end it, both of us hovering over the final twitch of muscle and nerve because landing it means losing it, having to lock it up in the happy past instead of holding onto it in the happier present. I don't think I'm a particularly deep person; I mean, I don't sit around all day contemplating the mysteries of the universe or the musings of the great philosophers. I can't even finish _100 Years of Solitude_ because I just get hopelessly lost in the prose and give up after a few pages. But with this woman, I kind of feel as though I've got a major grip on what makes a life worth living. She doesn't hide that information from me with fancy turns of phrase or circuitous rambling. She just looks into my eyes and dares me to be completely with her. And I'm right here: where else would I possibly want to be?

"Oh," Bella says when we've finally arrived at our destination. She hides her face from me, which makes me frown a little bit. I put my fingers under her chin to see what's going on, and I notice that her eyes are full of unshed tears. "Why are you crying?" I think I know, but I want to hear it from her.

"I just - I never - every time, with you, I'm just stunned by how it's always better than I ever thought it could be," she stutters.

"Ssh, don't jinx it," I laugh. "I'm terrified that someone's going to find out how unbelievable this is and kidnap us for further study at Roswell."

We've got at least another hour or two before we have to get up and face lunch with Renee and Charlie, so we hunker down underneath our blankets and drift back into sleep. Fewer than five minutes later, it's my phone which disturbs the sweet peace. My mother wants to know whether we can meet for lunch today - a quick conference with a possibly unconscious Bella yields a plan to have all four parents join us for lunch. I name the seafood restaurant I'd suggested nearby at which Bella told her mother to meet us, and we hang up. As I'm placing my phone back on the nightstand, Bella's phone starts ringing, and I'm beginning to feel like a receptionist. Taking pity on the sleepy birthday girl, I reach over her and grab the offending piece of technology to answer the call. It's Alice again, wanting to know what our plans are for Bella's birthday. I sigh and invite her and Jasper along to lunch as well, and she tells me she'll just pass the word along to Emmett and Rosalie, who might also be dragging Carlisle and Esme with them. Why not? I had all these grand plans to serve breakfast in bed, and had been studying several recipes for French toast because I don't think I'm capable of producing edible waffles at this point in my culinary education and I know Bella loves French toast. I'm never, ever home for the entire day on Saturday, and I was really hoping to just spend the time alone with her, because I honestly do hate sharing. I also hate phones. I'll bet we'd be facing less of a crowd if they'd have been forced to wrangle carrier pigeons to transmit their interfering messages.

So now we're twelve for lunch. I slip out of bed to see if I can find the number for the restaurant and book a table for us, because twelve is a rather large party of diners to spring upon an unsuspecting eatery.

Reservation made, I rejoin Bella in bed and we dream away the next few hours until it's just before noon. "Time to wake up," I whisper in her ear, hating the fact that I have to. I wonder for the millionth time what it is that she dreams about - it's frustrating to me that I can't ever know all of her, but at the same time, I kind of like the fact that she will always have a little bit of mystery to her. As long as she keeps saying my name when she sleeps, I figure I'm safe. Well, provided that saying my name isn't immediately followed by her saying something like "You're an idiot and I hate you." That might be her dream, but it would sure be my nightmare.

We execute a complicated but affectionate ballet in and out of the bathroom, showering quickly and dragging on clothes. Bella huffs at me when I'm dressed and ready to go. "How do you _do_ that?" she wants to know. I have no idea what she's talking about. "What are you talking about?" I ask. She shakes her head. "You got as little sleep last night as I did. You're a man who couldn't possibly care less about fashion. Your beautiful hair is the hair of an escaped lunatic. And yet, even when given mere minutes to assemble yourself for public consumption, you end up looking like - ugh, it's infuriating!"

I look down at what I'm wearing. It's hardly a deviation from the norm for me - I've got on a pair of jeans and one of my innumerable white oxford shirts, and to ramp up the nerd factor for the parents, I'm wearing a blue sweater vest. "How on earth is this even remotely hot to you? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you like it. I can't wait to see what happens when I actually _try_ dressing to impress you." I take a good look at what she's got on today. She's wearing a pair of black cuffed trousers and a thin dark green sweater. Jesus, she looks good enough to eat. Repeatedly. "Hmm," I say, as I roll my tongue back into my mouth. "Point taken. It's probably a good thing that you like my killer nerd style, because seriously, you look amazing."

"Do me a favor and give me fair warning if you ever plan on wearing a suit of any kind," she begs me. "It wouldn't be right to just drop that on me with no notice." I immediately resolve to wear a suit tonight just to see what she'll do about that. I probably shouldn't tell her that my suits are all bespoke by one of those ancient operations on Savile Row because my mother has funny ideas about things like tailors. I have to admit that they're really nice suits, though.

We walk over to the restaurant because it's only four blocks away and while the day is overcast, it's not raining. It's a Saturday afternoon, and I'm not at the hospital surrounded by other people's misery. I'm walking down the street hand-in-hand with the woman I love, about to eat lunch with other people I'm genuinely thrilled to have in my life. What the hell happened to the island I once was? Now it's lunch-for-twelve and I'm a man in love. My old life seems so cold and sad to me when I stop to consider how different everything is for me today.

"It's quite the party we've got going on, birthday girl," I smile.

"What? Our parents? They'll probably just ignore us and chat about Donkey Kong and 'Sugar Magnolia'," Bella replies. "I like our odds on this one now."

"Well, there's always Alice, and Jasper, and Carlisle, and Esme, and Rose, and Emmett. I can't wait until Rose starts messing with Baronet jokes in front of my mother."

Bella stops walking and looks at me strangely. "What are you talking about?"

"Uhm, they're all kind of joining us for lunch today."

"When did this happen?"

"When you were asleep - I did tell you about it, though."

"You told me about it when I was asleep? Exactly what did you hope to accomplish by sharing this information with me when I was unconscious? Honestly, Edward," she frowns. "Do you plan to do that often? I mean, tell me important things when I can't actually hear what you're saying?"

"Yes. I'm going to get you to agree to do all kinds of things while you're sleeping. Muahaha. I'm not even going to tell you about the other stuff you said was fine with you."

She wrinkles her nose in my direction. "I hate my birthday. I hate celebrating it with a dozen people even more."

I put my arm around her shoulders and propel her forward again. "I know. Suck it up and deal, though. People love you."

"I love them back. It's just - I don't like being the center of attention, and there's going to be enough of that onstage tonight."

"Let me distract you," I say helpfully. "I'll run home and get your presents."

"No!" She screams as though I've just offered to slaughter kittens in her name. "No presents! Not now! Later, maybe, after the show, when it's just the two of us."

"Tell you what - I'll just wait until you're asleep, and then grab your hands and help you unwrap them. There's a good chance you'll be more enthusiastic that way. Or at least less of a pain about the whole thing."

Bella just shakes her head at me and closes the short distance to the restaurant, opening the door before I have the opportunity to open it for her. This is how she likes to punish me: when she's irritated, she won't let me be a gentleman. It's extremely effective as punishments go, and she knows it will eat away at me and make me feel guilty in front of my mother.

The restaurant is called Gorgons. I pass it on my morning runs, but have never actually eaten here. I have jogged in place in front of their menu, though, and the offerings always seem interesting and tempting (although slightly blurry, because jogging and reading are not a match made in heaven). As we enter the large, airy space, I feel a bit as though we're going through some kind of odd marine tunnel, because everything is blue and glass and shimmery. It's really pretty lovely, and I pat myself on the back for randomly suggesting the place, sure that the ladies at least will enjoy the ambiance.

I step over to the hostess and give her my name, and she smiles this enormous smile and tells me that some of the party has already been seated. She looks like Goldie Hawn in _Butterflies Are Free_. Bella stands next to me, giving the hostess a raised eyebrow and slipping her arm around my waist. Not to be outdone by this display of possessiveness, I lean down and give Bella a kiss on her neck. Sorry, Goldie. You need to check and see if Edward Albert is still available, because Edward Anthony is definitely taken.

"Hey!" Alice is waving at us, her head barely visible across the fairly crowded dining room. "Over here!"

I stand aside to let Bella walk in front of me, partly because it's the polite thing to do, and partly because I know she just wants to hide behind me and that's not acceptable. It turns out that we are the latecomers to lunch, because everyone else is already gathered at the rather large round table. I don't like large round tables - someone's elbow always ends up in my ribs, and there's never any space in which I can store my feet. Also, aside from King Arthur's version at Camelot, no restaurant roundtop that I've ever seen is actually large enough to comfortably accommodate a dozen people. I have bad flashbacks to several society functions I've been forced to attend over the years, but then I remember that these are people I like, so if someone throws me an elbow, it won't be awful. Plus, Bella will be sitting next to me, and it's never a bad thing to have any part of her touching any part of me.

We take our places at the two remaining seats - I'm next to Alice, and while she's very tiny, she bounces around so much that it's almost like sitting next to Emmett. Bella's next to my mother, and they seem to have developed a fair level of comfort with one another, which makes me really happy. It's so odd to see how this motley collection of people have managed to bond with very little obvious effort: my father is deep in conversation with Carlisle about medical nonsense; Charlie's discovered that Emmett was a cornerback for the Blue Devils and is now grilling him about all things football related; Rose and Renee are talking about some "women at work" program to encourage continuing education for reservation mothers to join the workforce; Alice, my mother, and Esme are talking about the impact of color on mood; and Bella and Jasper are comparing notes on their new classes. I'm not saying much of anything at all, but I really like being in the middle of all of this comfortable, easy chatter.

Alice knows full well that Bella wants no kind of fuss for her birthday, which is of course why she's brought along a cake for dessert. The waitress brings out the cake, oddly decorated with a candle in the shape of a clown, and we all sing "Happy Birthday" to Bella as she blushes and grimaces, then quickly blows out the candle and shoos the waitress back into the kitchen to cut the thing up and serve it to us.

"Sweetheart, I got you a little something," Renee says, shoving a pink box under Bella's nose. The box is clearly labeled "Victoria's Secret", and the two of them have a quick but powerful argument about opening the box here at the table. I want to help Bella, because I know she's mortified, so I joke that it's probably really a gift for me.

The moment I say the words, I realize that I've made a gross error in judgment, because I've just reminded all assembled that I've seen Bella in - and out - of her unmentionables. And when I say "all assembled", I really mean her father, who stops chatting about yardage and just twitches his Mustache of Justice at me. Also, Bella's impossibly redder than she was a moment ago.

Renee chooses to take a bad situation and make it even worse, which I'm guessing is a bit of a habit with her anyway. "Relax, it's just a shirt. But I haven't forgotten about you, Edward," she laughs, and hands me the promised copy of the _Kama Sutra_ and a little gift bag full of what I'm going to assume are a variety of massage oils. The _Kama Sutra_ is unwrapped. My father begins the nervous cough thing I've inherited from him, while Carlisle chooses to pointedly ignore the entire situation by studying an entirely imaginary spot on his jacket. In the span of no more than a minute, we've gone from comfortable chatter to cryptlike silence.

Relief comes for me from an unexpected quarter, as Rose calmly grabs the book out of my hands and starts flipping through the pages. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Ow. Not without oven mitts. Better him than me," she's saying, as she turns each page. Even Charlie has to stifle a laugh, because she's so deadpan and bored by the whole thing that she entirely diffuses the awkwardness, and in another minute, Esme and my mother are telling the table about a dance troupe called Pilobolus which is a bit like Cirque du Soliel on solid ground. Once Rose is satisfied that we're all over the social crisis, she hands the book back to me with a look which clearly says "You owe me. I will collect." I don't know how Emmett has managed to hold onto his testicles for as long as he has. Mine would have been gone after a week.

We fight over the bill like magpies with a shiny piece of aluminum foil. Charlie insists on picking up the tab because it's his daughter's birthday, and he looks so defiant that we all eventually back down and let him have the glory. I participate in the goodbyes, and I notice that my mother willingly subjects herself to Renee's renewed assault, patting her gently on the back and promising to sit with them during this evening's performance. Carlisle and Esme are quickly and unceremoniously folded into this plan, which they don't seem to mind at all. Emmett has some studying to do, but he and Rose promise to meet us afterwards for a drink.

"You're finally all mine again," I whisper in Bella's ear as we wave and turn to walk back home. "Are you still tired? " She shakes her head. "Just glad that's over with," she says. "Isn't it amazing that everyone just kind of fits together? I can't believe that your mother isn't completely thrown by mine. It's a miracle."

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close to me. She can never be too close. "Well, I don't know that I'd call it a miracle, really. I told you my mother would be thrilled with you, and being thrilled with you means she's going to be thrilled with your family by extension. Furthermore, your mother is hilarious. She's smart, and nutty, and real. My mother's so used to people being intimidated by her that it's probably really refreshing for her to have someone in her circle who calls her out on things."

Bella initially appears to be listening to me as I ramble on, but when I feel her hand slip between my sweater vest and my shirt, I suddenly realize that the attentive pose she's been striking is a fake-out. My favorite fake-out, so I am definitely not complaining. "Erm, is the sweater vest doing it for you? Because if it is, I'll buy a few dozen of them." She blinks at me and smiles, slow and sexy, and I have to wonder if she knows that the look she has on her face at this moment is something I'd gladly crawl over hot coals and live wires to see directed at me. "Mmm, not so much the sweater vest as what's under it," she murmurs. "My shirt?" I'm being obnoxious, I know, but it makes me crazy to hear her tell me that she wants me. I want her all the time, every minute of the day. I'm like a pot of water on a constant slow simmer, just waiting for her to tap the burner and send me into a rolling boil.

"Yes, Edward. Your shirt. It's such a gorgeous shirt, so nice and smooth under my hands. And...big, almost too big. I want to borrow your shirt from you and wrap myself up in it. I want to wear it until it's worn out. I want to feel it on my skin."

Here is the genius thing about Bella. She's said absolutely nothing dirty in the last ten seconds. This is a conversation we could be having in a roomful of nuns, and I doubt there would be a single blush in the crowd, because we're talking about a plain white oxford shirt, the most innocuous and innocent item of clothing ever devised for modern man to wear. But she's made a few sentences about borrowing my shirt sound like the filthiest bit of pornography.

"Jesus, Bella," I manage to choke. "Walk a little faster, or I'll throw you over my shoulder and sprint home." She laughs and spins herself out from under my arm, skipping ahead of me. "I think my mother's presents are slowing you down a little," she grins. "Thanks for carrying them, by the way." It's a taunt.

We reach our front door and I practically shoulder the solid oak off its hinges in order to get her inside. Grabbing her to me, I kiss her so hard and so deep that I almost pass out from the lack of oxygen and the sheer reality of her. "We need to be upstairs," she pants, and I'm very sad about the fact that I don't have a transporter handy because the precious seconds wasted climbing to the second floor will take too long. Surprising me with a sudden and uncharacteristic burst of speed, she races up the stairs and waits for me at the top. What am I still doing down here? In the time it takes me to form that thought, I've climbed the stairs to join her, and we make quick work of the hallway to the bedroom. Our bedroom. Ours.

"You're still holding the presents," Bella laughs, grabbing the box from my hands and undoing the ribbon to see what's inside. She pulls away the tissue paper and unfolds a perfectly respectable-looking black collared blouse. This momentarily shocks me, because it doesn't seem to be the sort of gift Renee would give anyone, least of all her daughter. It's not see-through, or miniscule, or indecent in any way. Bella inspects the blouse and starts laughing even harder now. "What?" I say.

"Look closer," she says, and holds up the blouse for my inspection. I see nothing unusual at all, until Bella grabs the blouse by the middle to show me the bottom. "It's a bodysuit," she smiles. "With snaps. At the crotch."

I have no words for what this bit of information is doing to me. If her blue dress is representative of who she is as a person, this blouse is who she is to me and me alone. She shows the world at large a calm, orderly, and reserved façade, and only I am privy to the fact that there are snaps at her crotch. "You're wearing that tonight," I growl at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and walking her backwards towards the bed until she's sitting on the mattress. "That is seriously the hottest thing I've ever seen." I grab for her again, but she scoots just out of reach and shakes her head at me. "Ah. Stay there," she commands, putting a hand against my chest, and I'm practically whimpering but I do as she says because she's the birthday girl and she owns me, owns every last bit of me.

"It's my birthday, and I get what I want, right?" Holy Christ, the look in her eyes just murders me. I can't speak, so I just nod and try to wait for her to tell me what I need to do to make her happy. "Okay, then. I want you. Here," she says, and points to her mouth. I stop thinking completely, feeling every single function shut down because the entire universe has just contracted in upon itself and is now focused on the solitary truth that I am without question the luckiest person who ever lived. I'm in a freeze-frame of desire so potent that I'm powerless to order arms and legs to do anything at all. Bella removes my jeans and boxers from the equation, then takes me between her lips as she kneels on the bed, and my knees buckle slightly against the edge of the mattress. I'm making sounds I've never made before, saying things which make no sense and which are not connected in any way to what's happening, and I'm afraid to look down at her because if I see this I'm pretty sure I'll never want to look at anything else, ever again. This is not the first time she's had me in her mouth. It will also hopefully not be the last time. What makes this time different is the fact that I finally understand she wants me every bit as much as I ever want her. Up to this point in time, I've always felt as though I have to manage my constant need for her. I see now that she feels the same need for me, and is simply better at disciplining herself against the impulse. I now realize that I don't have to beg her, and she certainly doesn't have to beg me.

Her tongue and her mouth and her hands and her hums are calling me home, so I finally look down and as predicted, I'm consumed by the sight, totally engulfed by the marriage of image and sensation and emotion. My hands are on her shoulders, because if I put them in her hair I will force this action and it's already so good there's no reason for me to do so. One final grunt and the dam breaks, and like a spy in the house of love, she will not let me leave her until all evidence has been erased.

"I love you," I tell her, as I collapse on the bed next to her and pull her close to me. "What brought that on?"

"I don't need a reason," Bella smiles at me. "You brought that on."

"Hey, if we're operating under those principles, your life is about to get a lot more interesting. Can I at least give you one present now? Please?"

She sighs. "Okay," she says, as though I'm asking her to hose down the trash bins. I'll take the assent any way I can get it, though, and scramble off the bed to get her first present from one of my dresser drawers, pulling my jeans and boxers up as I go. I hand the box to her, and she unties the ribbon and opens the lid. "What?" she breathes, slightly startled. She removes the book from the box and examines it more closely, then turns to me with a huge smile. "This is fantastic!" she squeals, hugging me. "I love it!"

"I found it online and purchased it through a dealer in Cambridge. He tells me that there are only one or two copies in existence, and that he had so much fun using it as a reference that he was genuinely sorry to see it go." I've purchased _The Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_ for her - it's a sort of gentleman's guide to slang and profanity from the Edwardian era, published in 1811, and it's full of the oddest phrases and euphemisms I've ever seen. We bend our heads over the book and turn a few pages to see what we can find.

"Aha! You're a '_bleached mort'_," I inform her. She slides her finger down the page until she finds the entry, and she nods her head in agreement, because she is indeed quite fair-complexioned. "Well, you have lovely _fambles_," she responds a few pages later, pointing out the entry which translates this from gibberish into "hands". Now we're absolutely obsessed with the book, and spend the next hour just trading insults and compliments, neither of which make any sense whatsoever.

"This is far and away the best present I've ever gotten in my entire life," Bella laughs when we take a break to ransack the kitchen for drinks and a light snack. "What on earth made you think of it? I'd never even heard of it, so I know the suggestion couldn't have come from me."

"Actually, I had a conversation with Jasper shortly after I found out that your birthday was on the horizon," I confess. "I asked him what you English professors love, and he said you love dictionaries and reference materials, which always help plump up a lesson with interesting information. I started scouting around online for something unusual, and stumbled on this book, the idea of which alone made me laugh. So I took a gamble and bought it."

"You said that there were only one or two of these in existence. Did you - I hope you didn't spend a fortune on it," she worries, biting her lip.

"No, it was a bargain - only two million," I say with a straight face.

"Dollars?"

"Pounds," I answer, and then I can't hold it together anymore so I crack up. "Bella, I'm kidding. It's a book, for crying out loud. I'm not going to tell you exactly what I paid for it, so please don't ask. I can assure you that it wasn't an insane amount of money. It was more than lunch, and less than my weekly paycheck."

She looks slightly relieved, but she's honestly going to have to get over the money thing and soon, because if this scared her, the second present will turn her into a raving lunatic. We finish our snack and get changed to head over to the theatre - we need to get there a little early, because Pete has someone coming down to get our statements about what happened last night. I dawdle in the bedroom after she's finished, telling her I'm just going to hop into the shower for a moment and I'll join her downstairs. I scrub down in record time, shave and just stare at my hair in disgust, then head for my closet to pick out a suit. I choose my favorite, which is this charcoal gray two-button in Italian wool. I rifle through some drawers until I find the dress shirts, where I grab a white one and then throw on a dark blue tie to finish it off. I'm lucky that all of my clothes sort of match each other, because I don't want to think about how long this would take me if I had to debate colors. I dig out some black wingtips which aren't the most comfortable shoes I've ever worn but they look good, and then I check out the effect in the full-length mirror before I inflict it on her.

She's hanging out in the living room, studying the pages of her new book and laughing to herself. I come down the stairs as quietly as I can and then just stand in the doorway, waiting for her to notice me. When she finally lifts her head to see that I'm there, the look on her face makes these shoes more than worthwhile, because she is genuinely and adorably agog. "Oh my God," she murmurs after staring at me for a good few minutes. "Oh my God. You're not human - you can't be human."

"I look like I'm going to a funeral," I laugh. "But it was worth it just to see that look on your face."

"You really don't have a clue, do you? See, if you had thought to wear this suit earlier in our relationship, there's no way I would have lasted as long as I did. I've have thrown you up against a wall and had my way with you the first day."

"Hmmm. We need to remember to keep this suit and your blue dress far, far away from each other, then."

"Do we have to do the play tonight?"

"As tempted as I am to lock the doors and bar the windows, I think we really do need to go. If we don't, everyone will just assume we're studying the book your mother was kind enough to give me, and Rose will never, ever stop torturing me until the day I die. Let's get it over with," I smile, and offer her my arm.

"Just remember that you're mine, and I have clearly stated for the record that this is a closed relationship," Bella says as she stands up and takes my arm. "Also, I'm going to assume that Rose will torture you about the book no matter what we do tonight."

We make it to the theatre and find a detective waiting for us. He's already taken everyone else's statements and just asks us some simple questions about what happened and what we know. We'll have to go down to the station on Monday to sign the formal paperwork, but we haven't told them anything earthshatteringly different from what they've already heard, so this doesn't take very long at all. The detective reminds us that if charges are filed, we'll probably have to testify. He also grins and lets us know that none of them were permitted to change following the performance, and so are sitting in their cells, still wearing long skirts and blouses.

In a startling contrast to the previous evening, tonight's performance goes off without a single hitch. The cast is loose and having fun, Banner looks as though he's high from the sheer ecstasy of an evening without activists and law enforcement officials mucking up his blocking, and the audience is definitely a little wilder than they were last night. There are a bunch of students from the university sitting at the back of the theatre. They are clearly huge fans of Shakespeare - they are calling out their favorite lines as though this was a midnight showing of _Rocky Horror_. Nobody minds, though, because Shakespeare wrote for the common man, and I'm pretty sure these kids aren't nearly as obnoxious as the groundlings were.

I'm sad that this is our last performance. As we take our final bows, I realize how much this experience has brought to my life. I mean, yes, of course Bella and all of the wonderful things she is, but also friends, and laughter, and a place to put this malfunction of mine which compels me to be someone different. It's legal here, like pot in Amsterdam. I'm even encouraged to step outside of myself and think like someone else for a few hours, behave in ways which are uncharacteristic of me, say things I ordinarily wouldn't dream of saying and take a break from the stress of my pretty serious occupation. I hope Doug invites me back for his next production. I hope this cast stays together and that we get to be different people next time around. I hope we always do the comedies, because I like them best. And I hope that no matter which play we're doing, I get to kiss Bella in the final scene of the final act.

We meet up with our crowd after we've changed back into our street clothes, and my mother is thrilled to see me in a suit. She's not as thrilled as Bella was, but that is absolutely a good thing. The cast and crew are headed over to Cavanaugh's to celebrate, so we tell our assorted parents to follow us and we make the short drive to the bar. It's pretty crowded, but Banner's in with the owner and they've reserved a bunch of tables for us , so we commandeer the bulk of the seating area and whoop it up for a few hours.

In a reasonably quiet moment, I decide that this is a good place in which to give Bella her second birthday present, so I reach into my suit jacket and pull out the envelope to hand to her. She tilts her head in confusion, but opens the envelope to see what I've given her.

"Edward, this is a plane ticket. Why are you giving me a plane ticket?"

I furrow my brow at her. "Well, the airlines generally require one if you want to get on a plane, and it's far and away the fastest mode of transport to London. We could take a boat, but you'd be gone for much longer than the week I've blocked out for this."

"We're going to London? You're taking me to London? I don't understand. You said that my second present was something you _made_ me."

"I did make this for you. I made plane reservations, and hotel reservations, and dinner reservations, and theatre reservations. I worked my fingers to the bone over the planning of this trip. Look," I say dramatically, holding out my thumb. "A callus from the space bar on my keyboard."

"We can't do this," she whispers, but I see how excited she is because her eyes are shining, so she just needs a little bit of gentle convincing. "Of course we can," I answer. "Listen, half of me belongs to America, and half of me belongs to the U.K., and all of me belongs to you. It sounds like a Ponzi scheme when I say it that way, but you know what I mean. You want to go, and I want to take you, and that's the end of the argument, really. It's only a week, and it's only the first of many trips we'll be making over there. We can bring your book with us, and see what happens when I invite a stranger on the street to shake your fambles. Besides, how will you know whether you're for Arsenal over Spurs or Manchester United over Liverpool if you don't go there and figure that out? It's pretty important to some of my relatives, and you will be weighed and measured and found wanting if you can't provide the right answer to that question."

"Which teams do you support?"

"Keep your eyes on your own paper, please, Teach. I will tell you that I'm for Celtic over Rangers - the rest you'll just have to work out when you get there."

She breaks into the most breathtaking smile. "Are we really going? When are we going?"

"Over the Christmas break. We leave on the 26th, and return on New Year's Day. Please do this with me," I beg, knowing full well that she's less likely to object if she thinks this is something I want. She doesn't answer, but instead throws her arms around my neck and whispers "thank you" over and over again into my ear. I don't usually know what to give people as gifts, but Bella is surprisingly easy because we both like the same things.

"Can we go home now?" She looks a little sleepy, but so happy, and I need no further encouragement to get her alone again even though we've had fun with everyone else tonight. We hug and kiss everyone in sight - Renee just hangs on us and doesn't want to let go, because they've got an early flight back to Phoenix in the morning and we won't get another chance to see them this weekend. Bella assures her that we'll be down to visit over Thanksgiving weekend, which leaves her ever so slightly mollified. Charlie actually man-hugs me, throwing one arm around my back and slapping it twice with his meaty hand. "Take care of my girl," he says, but it's really more of a command, and one I don't mind following at all. "Yes, sir," I answer. There's a slight chance he's smiling under that mustache, but I'll never know for certain, and I think he likes it that way.

I pull Bella away from my mother and wind an arm around her waist. "Let's go," I say. She kisses my mother on the cheek and gives everyone a final wave as we head for the door.

"Did you have a fun birthday?" I ask.

"Mmmhmmm," she nods, resting her head on my shoulder while I try to figure out where we parked the car. "But I'm glad it's over. Tomorrow, it's back to normal."

"Normal's good."

Bella kisses my neck. "Normal's great. Now give me your famble and let's find this car so we can get home and get you out of the uncomfortable suit, you poor thing."

Normal's perfect.

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A/N - Howdy! The next chapter is the last for this story, but I hope you trust that I'll give them a proper send-off. And if you haven't already done so, you might want to put me on Author Alert because I've started in on another story which will post toward the end of August. Bella and Edward are network news anchors in that one, and I think it's going to be fun.

Need a break from the angst? Try "Faking It", by spanglemaker9. I also love "Bare", by Stella Luna Sky, and "The Blessing and the Curse", by The Black Arrow.

I hope your Augusts are august, and marked by majestic dignity and grandeur!


	26. Such stuff as dreams are made on

**A/N** - Shut up, Nina, and let them just get on with it! More at the bottom -

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Such stuff as dreams are made on

BPOV

"Al, if you don't stand still, I can't help you," I laugh. "Make like a mannequin for sixty seconds. You know I'm useless at this kind of thing to begin with, and it's virtually impossible for me to dress a moving target."

She manages to stop bouncing violently for the briefest span of time. "Jesus, who convinced me that twenty-five cross-buttoned silk charmeuse straps was a fantastic idea? Does this look like a straight jacket from the back? Be brutally honest. No - wait - lie to me if it's bad. No. Truth. Lie. _Shit_! Okay, either tell me the truth tactfully, or lie as honestly as you can."

Esme pokes her head through the door. "Hi girls. How's it going in here?" She takes one look at her daughter and cracks the door open wider to let herself into the room. "I thought as much. I come bearing sedatives." She waves a pitcher of mimosas and some plastic cups at us. Alice lunges for the pitcher, leaving me trying to button thin air.

"Shouldn't someone be paying attention to the nerves of the actual bride today?" I can't believe we're in here making a fuss over Alice when Rosalie is in the guest bedroom with only her mother to support her. Her mother, who showed up two days ago with an overnight bag full of black stretch pants and Cherokee polo shirts from Target. I swear Rosalie was either adopted or raised by gypsy fashionistas before she was dropped into the Hale household, because she and her mother are polar opposites when it comes to a sense of style. My mother may be a fruitbar, but at least she's got her own definable disaster of a look.

"Well, Rosalie doesn't get nervous, so I think we'd only be pestering her if we hovered," Esme shrugs, patting Alice on the shoulder and steering her gently back to me so that I can finish the job I started. "Honey, you both look lovely. I never asked you - did Rose pick this color, or did you?"

I look down at my dress, which is a slight variation of the dress Alice has made for herself. They are both a strange not-quite-grey-but-not-quite-blue shade with a draped neckline. Alice has designed intricate backs for each dress to distinguish them - she's got a series of buttoned straps in a basketweave, while I have several layers of silk chiffon in graded tones which form a sort of gossamer tail. I'd better not eat or drink anything today, because this dress is so fitted that an extra atom would cause it to explode off of my body.

"I showed Rose some swatches and this is what she wanted," Alice replies. "It's to do with her eye color, I think. In any event, it works for both of us, so I'm not complaining. Matching formalwear just isn't my thing - I hate designing this kind of garment. I wanted to do evening gowns but there's no way I'd steal Rose's thunder today."

"You did a terrific job with the dresses, sweetheart. You both look like Ladies of the Lake."

"Bel, you'll never have to wear this dress again. I swear, I won't be offended. And when Jasper and I get married in December, we're eloping to Hawaii so you can wear your stupid capris and your ugly Birkenstocks if you want. Not really, but you know, along those lines - just better. Forget it. I'll pack for you."

"Is Jasper aware of this?" Esme looks a little startled, because an elopement means that she'll need to work harder in order to plan a party around the event.

"No, but he'll agree with me, I know he will," Alice gives her head a shake as I finish doing up her last button and release her. "There. Thank God."

"Thank Bella," Esme laughs. "You'd better get moving. We've got about fifteen minutes before the ceremony."

Esme sweeps out of the room and Alice and I make our way over to the guest room, where Rose is calmly putting in her earrings while a photographer captures her every move.

"Go away," Rose snaps as we enter the room, and Alice and I promptly turn around to beat a hasty retreat. "Not you two - I'm talking to Jimmy Olsen over here," she says, nodding at the photographer. "Seriously, get lost. Go take some shots of the flower arrangements and give me five minutes of peace. I feel like the prize heifer at a 4-H Club show."

"But you said -" Jimmy sputters. Jimmy is actually a slightly groovy guy with a little soul patch under his lip, and not a fresh-faced freckled youth.

"I know what I said. Now listen to what I'm _saying_. Think you can keep up? Scram."

Jimmy runs for his life while Alice and I approach the bride with the sort of caution one might reserve for injured animals in the wild and toddlers brandishing AK-47s. "Hey, Rose," Al murmurs warily. "Can we help with anything?"

She smiles, completely at ease. "Nah - I just like messing with him. How are you two doing? You look great!"

"You look absolutely stunning," I say, because truly, she does. She's wearing the simplest sheath of a dress, but when she stands, it appears as though she's risen from a column of the purest white satin which trails seductively around her feet in a gentle flare, sweeping the ground as she walks. Her liquid sunshine tresses are piled artfully on top of her head, loose but regal, showcasing the marble perfection of her neck, upon which rests a delicate platinum chain with a lovely silver locket.

"Are there pictures in the locket?" I don't know why I'm curious about things like that, but I invariably am. It's really very nosy of me.

"Mmmhmm," Rose confirms, and opens the locket to show me. On one side, there's fifteen year old Rose, beautiful even at the most awkward time of life, and on the other side, Emmett at the same age, huge infectious grin obscured by braces but brilliant and heartwarming all the same. "These were taken the month we met."

To look at Rose, you'd never suspect she harbors a single sentimental bone in her body. In reality, when she loves, she loves deeply, and her affection once gained is virtually impossible to lose. She is fierce when it comes to the people she permits under the barricade. I know she'll never stop giving Edward grief over one thing or another, but I think she only does it because she knows he'll accept that from her as part of the contract of friendship between them. If she ever discovered he was genuinely hurt or offended by something she'd said, she'd be horrified. He's not, though - he'd never admit it, but I know he gets a huge kick out of the way she torments him because it makes him feel as though he's got a sister in her.

Alice peers at the pictures in the locket. "I remember the first time he brought you over to our house," she laughs. "I don't think you unfolded your arms once during the entire time you were here."

"That's nothing," her mother titters from the corner. "I don't think she unfolded her arms for the first eight years of her life."

"No veil, Mom. No. Absolutely not," Rose responds, as though what her mother's said has some kind of connection to the subject. We've clearly missed a few steps in the argument by arriving late on the scene.

"Oh, hush," Mrs. Hale tsks at her. "Your gran will just have to deal with it. But you're going to explain it to her, because she's my mother-in-law and I'm not taking that bullet for you."

"Alice," Rose says, "I want to thank you right now for having Esme as a mother. All she ever wants me to do is eat her delicious food, hang out in her comfortable home, and keep her boneheaded son off the streets. As mothers-in-law go, I have a feeling she's going to rate pretty high."

As though she's heard Rose sing her praises, Esme taps on the door and sticks her head into the room. "We're 'go' downstairs. Should I get your father?"

Rose nods and picks her bouquet up from the box in which it rests on the bed. "I'm good. Let's do it."

The ceremony and the reception are taking place in a large tent on the back lawn. I don't think either Rose or Emmett wanted anything quite so formal, but Rose was pretty relaxed about the arrangements and only wanted to make sure that the whole thing didn't blow up into a big, stupid affair. As it is, there are at least 150 people in attendance, which merely qualifies this as an average Cullen fete. The other stricture Rose placed on the goings-on was that the ceremony itself needed to clock in at fifteen minutes or under, because she has no patience whatsoever for rituals and would have been just as happy doing this at the town hall in front of a judge. She wants to get to the party as quickly as possible.

Alice and I click our heels along the hallway through the kitchen and out to the patio. June 28th is a lovely, warm Saturday this year, and the afternoon sunlight bathes our path in mellow, hazy gold. I'm wearing insane shoes, chosen for me by Alice, who was militant to the point of absurdity about the footwear for this dress. If I crack an ankle or break my skull on the way to the far end of the tent, it'll be her fault and I've given Edward power of attorney to announce that fact to the entire party while I spend the reception in the ER.

Speaking of Edward, my eyes sweep the back of the tent for him. I find him standing next to Jasper, who is standing next to Emmett, who looks as though he's about to shoot out of his shoes and fly into the air with happiness. I think Jasper might actually be holding Emmett down by the hem of his tuxedo jacket. Edward appears to be completely at ease, grinning as he watches me try to negotiate the treacherous aisle and arrive at the makeshift altar in one piece. He's entirely too smug about my struggle, so I look down and peek at him through my lashes because this is a time-tested method of causing him to lose his mind. I add a little shoulder roll to the mix just to keep him on his toes, and am rewarded by the sight of him subtly crossing his hands over his crotch and shaking his head at me. God, I hope nobody's watching this, but if they are, at least they know I've won.

Everyone turns to the entrance of the tent to watch Rose as she glides effortlessly down the aisle, a floating dream, a vision of perfect ice blonde beauty. I sneak a peek at Emmett and see a grin so huge I'm frankly amazed his face doesn't split in two. In answer, Rose lifts her delicate eyebrow and I see her lips curl slightly at one corner. Her father kisses her cheek and hands her off to Emmett, and Pastor Weber begins to speak. Edward taps his watch to let me know that he's timing the whole thing.

Fourteen minutes and some seconds later, Emmett and Rose are officially husband and wife. He's grabbing her and throwing her into a dip kiss worthy of Alfred Eisenstaedt's lens, complete with crazy muffled growling noises, which makes the entire crowd laugh while Rose slaps lightly at his shoulders. When he lets her up and they turn to face their friends and families, they are both breathless and Rose is smiling the most joyful, unbridled smile I've ever seen on her face. She is radiant, holding onto one of Emmett's meaty arms with both of her hands while he raises the other in a completely undignified victory salute. There is no rehearsed walk back down the aisle we recently traveled; instead, everyone sort of stands up and starts milling around the new couple, Emmett's football buddies slapping him on the back and whooping at him while Rose tries to greet the less boisterous guests with smiles and one-armed hugs because Emmett is absolutely not letting her get more than a half an inch away from his side.

I feel Edward's arm slide around my waist while his other hand works to steady me on my towering heels of death. "I like your tail," he murmurs in my ear, commenting on the chiffon sails at my back. "Mmm, I like yours too," I answer, and he laughs at me. It is fair to say that Edward in a tuxedo is a menace to my sense of propriety. "Come on - let's get in the scrum and congratulate them before they're swallowed whole," he says, pulling me gently toward the newlywed huddle.

We wait our turn to congratulate the newly-minted Mr. and Mrs. Cullen, until finally we've reached the inner circle and Rose puts her free arm around my shoulders. "You're next," she whispers in my ear. I smile at her with what I hope is warmth and certainty, but there's a little bit of wistfulness behind the smile I'm hoping she doesn't cotton onto. Emmett is busy making an even more outrageous mess of Edward's hair by ruffling it with his porterhouse hand. "Come on in, kids - the water's fine," he bellowing in his customarily subtle fashion. Edward just grins and grips Emmett's shoulders, half in congratulation and half in an attempt to get him to let go of his head.

A cocktail party erupts out of nowhere, testament to the skill of the caterers Esme's hired for the event. Suddenly, there are passed hors d'oeuvres floating around us on trays held by polished waiters, while waitresses flit by with champagne flutes and a string ensemble wordlessly encourages those assembled to move to the other side of the tent so that staff can break down the folding chairs for the ceremony and set up carving stations for dinner. While Edward is chatting with Carlisle, I totter over to where Alice and Jasper are standing. "Al, these shoes are death traps. If you wanted to murder me, surely there were more humane methods at your disposal."

Jasper looks me up and down in appreciation. "My advice is to suffer in silence, Swan - those shoes make your legs look illegal." I frown at him. "Fine. I'll wear shoes with heels as high as Al likes, as long as someone agrees to carry me everywhere I want to go."

I feel Edward's hand at the small of my back as I finish my thought. "I had not planned to spend tonight as a human rickshaw, but I'm not necessarily opposed to the idea," he muses. "Apparently, our collective presence is required for some photos."

We pose for pictures that I'm pretty sure make us all look as though we belong on an album cover for seventies soft rock, but Jimmy's calling the shots and neither Rose nor Emmett appear to give a hoot about any of it. Once the torture is complete, we're released to enjoy our dinner. The six of us are seated together, as has been the case at least once a week since September. A steady stream of well-wishers interrupts Rose and Emmett while they attempt to swallow mouthfuls of food, but neither one of them seems to mind very much because today is a day for happy interruptions. I watch Emmett as he watches Rose, every emotion he's feeling plainly visible on his face. Chief among them appears to be relief, and that surprises me. Was he ever uncertain of her? They've been together for more than a decade - how could he doubt that this is where they'd end up?

I, on the other hand, am struggling tonight. Edward hasn't seriously raised the subject of marriage once in the entire nine months we've been living together. The nine happiest months of my life. Nine months of whispered confidences, late-night laughing over nonsense, reading over each other's shoulders, and unconsciously anticipating each other's needs. Nine months of crossword puzzles, carpet picnics, falling asleep on the couch while listening to quiet music, hunting down his constantly-escaping cell phone, and battling over who forgot to put the wet towels in the dryer (it's usually me, but I never confess to it). Nine months of unbelievable sex, unbelievable tenderness, unbelievable joy. The realization I've come to is that this whole time, we've been miming a marriage, playing the parts without speaking the lines. I have always been nervous about the lines, because I want to perform the part of a bride once and only once in my whole life. I now know with every last cell in my body that I need to say those lines to him, and I need him to answer them with his own.

I'm ready. How do I tell him that, though? It seems kind of pushy to be putting a gun to his head about the thing by announcing my willingness. What if he's changed his mind? What if he's perfectly content with the way things stand? What if our position on the bridge between "single" and "spouse" is where he's most comfortable?

Dinner is finished, and we watch as Emmett and Rose take their first turn around the dance floor as husband and wife. Rose is quite literally daring Emmett with her eyes to do something ridiculous, but instead all he does is to put his forehead against hers and pull her closer. I can see him whispering to her as they dance, and she nods and smiles up at him, tender and overwhelmingly female. I feel a little voyeuristic just watching them, because they've quite clearly forgotten that there's anyone else in the room. There is a party going on all around them, bright lights and noise and movement, but they are in a private little bubble of happiness which closes off all intrusion.

The bubble bursts as Esme and Carlisle join them on the floor, followed closely by Rose's parents, who are surprisingly adept dancers, solving the small mystery of how Rose came to be such an elegant presence there.

Edward grabs my hand and hoists me from my chair. "I'm not dancing," I warn him, and he smiles at me. "Oh yes, you are. Just watch you." "Edward, I can barely walk in these shoes. I don't want to spend the summer in a wheelchair." He grips my waist and steers me toward the dance floor. "You won't, I promise. I'm actually pretty good at this."

Of course he is. Why should dancing prove to be the exception to the rule? "Fine," I huff. "But only the slow songs." His mouth twists into a wicked smirk and he murmurs something about a jitterbug, but I grab his shirt where it covers his abdomen and press my knuckles into the flesh behind the fabric. "Slow," I remind him, and his arms circle me as he spins me gently around the room, lifting me ever so slightly to relieve the pressure on my aching toes.

"Mmmm," I sigh, after realizing that it's not so much me dancing as it is Edward holding me and doing all the work. "This is nice." He presses his lips against my hair and I can feel him smile. "You know, you're very James Bond in a tuxedo. It's almost as good as the breeches."

That makes him laugh. "Why, thank you. At the very least, it's an easier look to pull off when I'm out in public. Speaking of breeches, has Doug gotten back to any of us with a start date? He's not here tonight, is he?"

I shake my head. "He told Jasper that we were probably looking at the last week of July, though. And the run will be four nights instead of two."

"I can't wait," he grins. "I get to slap food out of your hands and tear your dress off of you. It'll be just like home, only with an audience."

"You were born to play Petruchio," I grumble teasingly. "Such a tyrant."

"Such a shrew," he answers, holding me closer still. "My shrew, though. All mine."

"Yours," I agree. "And I think what the play has to say about marriage is pretty interesting too." Is this too obvious in terms of a segue? I hope not, and wait to hear whether he wants to take the conversation any further.

After a moment of silence, I look up to find Edward looking down at me, his eyes like green fire, but schooling his features into something calm and mildly curious. "Yes? And what in particular do you find so interesting about it?"

_Ah. All right, then. Speak, Bella. Here's your chance._

"Well, at the start of the play, Kate has no desire whatsoever to be married - to anyone, really, because she values her independence so highly. But I think that as time goes on, she begins to understand that a true marriage isn't about control. It's about concession and compromise. And that's why she's willing to subject herself to Petruchio's crazy behavior - because she sees that he's only trying to show her in his way that he loves her and wants them to be equals where it really matters. That he loves her spirit and her fire. That even though society dictates their roles, they can decide between them how much is for show and how much is for real." I have to look back up at him now to make my point. "The feminists read that play all wrong. Kate isn't a victim. She's a co-conspirator in her happiness, and she's found the only man in the world who can give that to her."

We stare at each other for a moment, silent understanding passing between us as actual words have come to mean less and less with the time spent together. He knows what I'm saying.

"Are you guys packed?" Alice bounds over to us, forcing me to break eye contact with Edward. "I'm so bummed that Jasper and I aren't going with you. I could really use a massive Manhatttan shopathon, but there's no way I'm getting away this week what with all the relatives in town. Say 'hi' to Bergie's for me," she pouts. "Remind me to give you my keys for Larry before you leave tonight. You'll be back for the Fourth, though, right?"

I nod. "We fly home on the Third. We'll be here for the fireworks."

"Bring back bagels from H & H. Oh - and that cheesecake I like. You know, the one from that bakery in Chelsea," Alice demands. "Also, can you swing by Face and grab four or five of the Ultra Sheer Pro foundations in Champagne? And I have a list of things I want from Tarina Tarantino - it's all small stuff, so it'll hardly take up any room in your bag. Take pictures when you're in the store, because there might be more I'll need."

"Al, I'm not spending the four days we have there surrogate shopping for you," I warn her, but she gives me the sad eyes and I can't help agreeing to be her pack mule.

"I'll carry the cheesecake," Edward offers manfully. If Edward carries the cheesecake, we'll have to sketch a picture of it for Alice because there will only be crumbs and a box left when we land at SeaTac. "If you're feeling that helpful, you can carry the makeup," I grin. "I'm not feeling that helpful, really," he confesses, disappointed that I'm onto him, and hoping that I'll let him hold the bagels as a compromise.

Our flight to New York the following afternoon is a quiet one. Edward's never been to the city before, and I can't wait to show him all of my old haunts, to do the city the way it was meant to be done and not the way the tour guides introduce it to visitors. In fact, the one truly touristy thing we'll do while we're there is take a Circle Line cruise, because it's only from the river that you can fully appreciate the architecture involved in creating the spectacular skyline.

I'm buzzing by the time we land, so excited to return to the city I love. The last time I was here, everything was covered in a dull wash of sadness and uncertainty. I'm coming back so ridiculously happy that the whole city seems to shimmer in high definition on the cab ride from JFK to our hotel, Edward elbowing me gently every now and then to ask me about something we're passing. We talk about how much we love our respective cities, but agree that life in Port Angeles trumps the constant motion of a major metropolis. We've grown soft, and don't sprint with the same frantic energy we might once have displayed on busy sidewalks. I'm content to amble now, and am not in any hurry to make time or myself go faster. I remember cursing in my head at the people who moved too slowly in front of me on crowded avenues in midtown. This time, I like my life too much to wish it into the future. I stand aside and let the eager ones pass me, because there's no way that wherever they're headed is better than where I am, which is next to Edward.

He falls into the rhythm of the city with natural grace, and within a day, I can see that he's developed that intuition we all have, the extra sense which leads you to the better hot dog vendor of two on opposing corners, or which tells you that the cab currently barreling your way as you cross Eighth Avenue will stop in plenty of time for the red light which swings above your head in the crosswalk. He wants to visit locations from some of his favorite movies, so we work those into our strolls around town, even bumping into a location shoot in progress for one of the endless "Law and Order" series currently filming. I tell him that "Law and Order" shoots are like pigeons, and he asks me whether the city fathers are doing something to manage the situation. I inform him that they're working on extermination, but it's slow going because NBC keeps feeding the shows money when our backs are turned, then keeping them in the dark where they're more likely to breed spin-offs.

On Thursday, our last full day in town, I want to visit some old friends in the English department at Hunter. Edward claims to have a few errands to run but says he'll meet me in the college cafeteria for lunch. I press him on what precisely those errands entail, but he's slightly evasive and I imagine he's probably trying to find either a birthday present for me or something to mark the occasion of the first anniversary of our first date or something. He's big on buying me things for any or no reason at all and although I've attempted time and again to cure him of the addiction, he's pretty far gone.

And so it is that I find myself back in the Hunter cafeteria, reaquainting my ass with the slightly uncomfortable aluminum chairs and the perfectly prepared grilled cheese sandwiches to be found there. Dennis, one of my old partners in crime in the department, has given me a galley proof of his first novel to read, and I'm idly flipping through the pages trying to figure out what possessed him to write about aliens who steal and alter human brains when I hear a cough clearly designed to attract my attention. I look up and see Jake standing next to the table, grinning and smoothly confident.

"Hey," he says, by way of greeting me. His warm, golden skin and the white teeth behind his curving lips momentarily blind me, as though I'm staring into a window with a south-facing view on a very sunny day. "Good to see you back here, Bella. How've you been?"

I blink and furrow my brow. How have I been? "Spectacular," I answer truthfully, neither caring why he's asking nor excited about the fact that he's asking, merely surprised that he's got the balls to ask at all. I'm struggling to remember what it was about him that attracted my interest, because now that I have the benefit of knowing what it's like to love a man who is truly worth the time and effort, I can clearly see that the person in front of me is unappealing on virtually every level save the most superficial ones - and again, Edward's got him beat on that score as well, because this tanned and tone specimen in front of me is a bit like a child's crude finger painting when compared to the aching perfection of the man I'm lucky enough to come home to every day.

I know that everyone always talks about the importance of closure in life, about how vital it is to solve your interpersonal mysteries so that you can put them behind you and move on. The Jake episode was obviously very upsetting to me at the time. It made me doubt so many things about myself, made me feel unwanted and unwantable, made me question whether I was capable of "doing" any kind of relationship. A year ago, I would have killed for closure, for answers to the questions I had surrounding why he just dropped me like a bad habit without any warning or explanation. But looking at him now, I find that I really don't need to know. I'm so glad he did - I owe him big time, because if he wasn't such an ass to me then I might never have met the one person on this planet who is capable of making every day I'm here worthwhile.

As Jake is formulating his next remark and I'm thinking about how glad I am that he's an ass, I see Edward stroll through the double doors of the cafeteria and scan the room for me. His eyebrows raise as he spots me, and he casually makes his way to my table, his long legs deftly slide through pushed-out chairs and cafe tables in his way, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. He's a clever man, my Everything is, and I can see him flipping through bits of information I've fed him about Jake, rapidly reaching the conclusion that the guy standing next to me is probably who I was talking about. I worry momentarily that Edward's going to do something stupid like punch him or feel the need to avenge me in some other predictably male fashion, but I should probably know better than that by now.

"Hi there," Edward says when he reaches the table. "Jake, I take it? I'm Edward." He makes no effort to remove his hands from his pockets, acknowledging Jake with a mere nod of his head. I'm the only one seated at the moment, so I just watch their expressions like I've snagged a front row spot at the US Open in Flushing Meadow a few months early. Jake lifts his chin in response. "Hey," is all he says, because he has no idea who Edward is, but his eyes are slightly wary all the same.

"Listen," Edward continues cheerfully, as though he's talking to an old friend of his. "I had a plan, but the fact that you're here makes it even better. Do me a favor and hang out for a minute, okay? Pull up a chair. There's something I want you to see." Confused but not sure that there's a reason or a way to object, Jake grabs a seat and plants himself. Edward gives Jake a conspiratorial wink and slings one of his own legs over the chair next to me, pulling it up to the table and gently pushing my cafeteria tray to one side so that he can grab both of my hands in one of his.

"Bella," he begins, turning those dangerous green eyes of his to mine and cranking up their stun rays to "Annihilate". "The last time a man sat down at one of these tables with you, he was the wrong guy. I don't know what criteria they use to judge the intelligence of the grad students attending this institution, but clearly the administration needs to jigger their standards a bit. I can't help but be happy about it, though, because everything that happened here brought you to me, and with me is where you belong. Forever."

My brain shuts down and my heart explodes as I realize what he's poised to do. I'm about to turn into a blubbering catastrophe in the middle of a crowded cafeteria in front of a guy who used and dumped me, and it's seriously the best day of my life so far.

Sure enough, Edward's other hand emerges from his pocket with a little velvet box, which he props open and places in front of me on the table. "Marry me. Please," is all he says by way of proposal. He's biting his lower lip to keep from laughing, but that does nothing to quell the mischief in his eyes. I don't see the ring. I don't see Jake, or the table, or the building we're sitting in. All I care about, all I need and could ever want, is living in those dancing green eyes, so much a part of me at this point that I can no longer draw any kind of clear line separating my soul from the soul residing there. The lump in my throat is far too large to permit any kind of sound from escaping, so all I can do is vigorously nod my head while the happiest tears I've ever shed splash down on the warm hand covering both of my own.

"You can take a hike now, Jake," Edward laughs as he turns his head to address him. "Whatever you came here for is definitely no longer available. But thanks for sticking around to see that - I totally owe you one." And then Edward grabs me by the shoulders, lifting me out of my chair and kissing me until I'm on the verge of passing out. "Let's get out of here and watch Anne Hathaway make a botch of Viola at the Delacorte, shall we?" he says when he finally releases my lips and I can breathe again. "I love you," I manage to whisper between gasps for air. "I love you so much." "I love you right back," he murmurs against my lips. "That was fun - I was expecting you to put up more of a fight, though." He reaches down and takes the ring out of the box, lifting my left hand to place it on my finger.

"You caught me off-guard," I giggle, wiping my eyes. "Next time you ask me something important and life-changing, I'll be sure to bring the pain." I take a minute to look down at the ring and gasp, because I'm now wearing what is possibly the largest diamond I've ever seen. I hear people joke about "rocks" when they're discussing engagement rings, but this is in truth a little boulder now weighing down my ring finger. "Edward, really - you can't expect me to function with something like this on my hand," I complain. "I need a sherpa to support the weight."

"Too bad," he responds firmly. "I want the fact that you're spoken for to be visible from space. Your ring, the Great Wall of China, and the Fresh Kills landfill. If _Terms of Endearment_ is anything to go by, those astronauts are pretty randy customers."

"We're not done discussing this," I warn him, but he's shaking his head at me. I remember where we are and look back at the table, unsurprised to discover that Jake is no longer occupying the chair on which he recently sat. My knee-jerk reaction is to want to apologize to him, but then I realize that my knee-jerk reaction is asinine and that I'll treasure his unwitting attendance at my proposal for the rest of my life. I hope it ruined his day, although I sincerely doubt it did. As it stands, there is nothing - I mean, absolutely nothing - which could ruin the kind of day I'm having.

We suffer through Ms. Hathaway as Viola, Edward vowing to beg Doug to let us take a crack at it later on in the season, then we eat some incredibly spicy Indian food before dashing back to the hotel to make love until the gray fingers of dawn pry apart the curtains of our room. I'm exhausted and we're both suffering from indigestion, but if I could capture the last twenty-four hours in a capsule and stare at them for the rest of my life, that capsule would be the most precious thing I've ever owned.

"We didn't call anyone to let them know we're engaged," I realize as we wait to board the plane back to Seattle. "Isn't that customary? Al is going to kill me."

"I expect they'll figure it out when they get the wedding invitations," he responds. "Speaking of which, do you have any thoughts on that subject? Because, you know, I'm all for expedience. If the chapel here in the terminal works for you, I'm good to go right now."

"I'm pretty sure your mother would never speak to me again if we went that route, and I'm even more confident that my mother would spend the rest of her life making me miserable. We're onlies, and that's our cross to bear."

Edward swivels around to face me. "Listen, we're not doing this for anyone other than ourselves. I don't care if you want to get hitched while riding burros down a trail in the Grand Canyon. We'll just sort out the families after the fact, okay?"

"The marriage is ours. Let the wedding be theirs. I frankly couldn't care less as long as it's soon. With our mothers and Al on the case, all we'll have to do is show up. I want to give them that, don't you?"

"Soon, though," he reiterates. "What if my mother has her heart set on Chicago as a venue, and your mom wants Phoenix? I don't want anyone bickering about this stuff. Promise me that if there's bickering, we'll just disappear and get it done behind their backs."

I can only imagine that the threat of this will keep everyone in line, so I agree to the terms. I want to be magnanimous about the event for their sake, but honestly, nothing beyond the fact that I get to say the words to Edward really matters much to me.

"I will wed you on a train, and I will wed you on a plane. I will wed you in a box, or with a fox, or up a tree, or on the sea," I laugh. "It doesn't matter to me at all, as long as I get you at the end of the aisle."

"Oh, you'll get me, all right," he smirks, lifting his eyebrow at me. "You'll get me, and then I'll get you."

When we arrive back home and make our announcement to our various near and dear ones, mass chaos erupts. I don't think Alice stops squealing for a good five minutes, but my favorite reaction is Rose's, because when she finds out that Jake was there to witness the entire thing, she actually hugs Edward and kisses him on the cheek. "Score one for you, Lord Loverboy. That's what I call taking someone down with style."

July blurs past us like Tony Hawk on a skateboard, and before I have a moment to think about it, we're in rehearsals for _The Taming of the Shrew. _Banner didn't even bother himself with holding auditions this year, because once again, the parts sort of automatically divided themselves up among the cast from last year's foray into the works of The Bard. Edward is practically foaming at the mouth to play Petruchio - he's even more evilly snarky than Benedick was, and Kate is once again more than a match for him on every level. I love that Shakespeare didn't scrimp when it came to the ageless tug-of-war between a man and a woman. These stories never get old because as long as people will insist on falling in love with each other, there will always be that struggle for balance and peace, that lovely patch of serenity in the middle of the sexes.

_'I came to wive it wealthily in Padua;_

_if wealthily, then happily in Padua.'_

Edward is sinking his teeth into the lines as we start our first full read-through. Oh my God, he's practically twitching out of his seat, he's so happy. He gets to torture me for five acts in ways that Beatrice would never have tolerated and Benedick would never have dared, and he couldn't be more delighted at the prospect. Petruchio claims he's only in it for the dowry and couldn't care less if the bride in question has a wicked tongue and a curst disposition, but we know better. Edward would be miserable if I didn't constantly question why he's so fond of _Atlas Shrugged_ when it's clearly a sub-par piece of fiction and a thinly-veiled manifesto of a hopelessly-flawed world view. I would be miserable if he didn't laugh at me for not understanding why Scorcese insists on killing so many people in every movie he makes. We'll debate these questions for the next eighty years, if we're lucky and life is kind to us. I'm pretty excited about that.

_'Kiss me Kate, we will be married o'Sunday'_, Edward's saying to me, even though we'll actually be married a little more than two months from Sunday at the Peninsula in Chicago thanks to a connection Edward's cousin Maddy harassed into giving us the date. I've been told to avoid looking at any and all receipts for the affair, as to do so would only cause me to hyperventilate and hide in our house in a fetal position. Alice springs out at me from behind every corner these days, holding endless swatches of white fabric against my face to determine which shade best suits my complexion. My mother and Dame Liz are giggling like schoolgirls about seating people they don't like at various tables for the reception, trying to create the oddest possible pairings. And somewhere in there, loved ones around us are seriously suggesting that we employ a horse-drawn carriage to whisk us away from the party and toward the honeymoon, the details of which are still completely shrouded in mystery to me because it's the one thing Edward insisted on handling by himself. "Pack your lucky snorkel in your Magic Eight-Ball bag," is all he says to me whenever I ask him about it.

I don't care. I don't care about any of it, because I have Edward, and he has me. Everything else is just props and backdrops.

# # #

**A/N** - God, I hope this was enough for you all, because the pleasure of your company over the past few months has been enormous and I want to leave you with smiles on your faces. To my sanctum sanctorum - ABG, mylittlesecret, Accio, Elle, Kimpy, Babette, Ivy, CaioBella, Kassiah, and holyshitI'mforgettingpeopleIknowIam - roses at your feet for your constant and loving support. To all of you lovely, lovely reviewers who have taken the time out of your lives to send me funny, friendly thoughts as you read along, thank you SO much for doing that - every single review has given me a delicious goose in the butt. To you silent majority who merely read and then slip off into the shadows from whence you came, I'm waving at you and hoping that you've enjoyed your stay here. I know it's difficult to say goodbye to these people, but I swear to you that they live happily ever after, and I need to get out of their way in order to let them do so.

While TPAP may have "officially" come to a close, my new fic, "Breaking News", is now up and running. I can tell you that the story involves Edward and Bella, and they are network news anchors. Edward is really fairly crusty, but he tapdances in the privacy of his apartment late at night in order to relieve the tension of the day. I suspect that they are going to be pretty ridiculous, so if Tapward sounds like your cup of tea, come on by and check him out. **Also, if you happen to enjoy TPAP, I wouldn't take it off "alert" yet - there were two winners for the recent auction of my authorship for Support Stacie, and both winners requested more TPAP - if they're generous and in the mood to share, I'll let you know about it here.**

It's been a gas. If you've got anything to say, push that button and let me hear it!


	27. TPAP Outtake Author's Note

Would I fake you out with some random author's note to nowhere? No, indeed, I would not. The first TPAP outtake is now alive and kicking, thanks entirely to the unbelievable generosity of the lovely mujisan, who bid on and won my services as her author/slave in the recent Support Stacie author's auction. Click on my profile to find the outtake now!

And please note that there is one final TPAP outtake on the horizon, courtesy of AccioBourbon, who was beautiful enough to commit to honoring her second-place bid in the auction in order to give you all some more of this lunacy.

I can't say it enough - these ladies humble me and amaze me. Go read the gift Susie's sweet enough to share with you all.


	28. TPAP Outtake 2 Author's Note

At long, long last, the second outtake for TPAP is now up and available for your viewing pleasure. I can't thank AccioBourbon enough for her patience, her support, and her friendship. I don't know what I did to deserve her, but I'm very glad I did it!


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